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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28622088">Goddess of the Void</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintIere/pseuds/SaintIere'>SaintIere</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Blood and Gore, Byleth character growth, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Do I like High Fantasy too much? Perhaps., Eventual Smut, F/M, Feral Dimitri, Graphic Description of Corpses, Moral injury, No betas we die like Glenn, PTSD, Period-Typical Racism, Slow Burn, Student!Byleth, This boy needs HELP, This is going to be DRAMATIC, domitri, lots of trauma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:20:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,858</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28622088</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintIere/pseuds/SaintIere</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>The Fell Star shone upon him. The Boar fled and hid in the umbral depths, afraid of what such light would reveal.</em>
</p>
<p></p>
<p>
  <em>A Goddess made flesh extended Her hand, but the Boar found that the blood on his palms was slippery.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>When She spoke, he could only hear the screams of his past.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Yet still, terrified and tortured, he sought Her relentlessly.</em>
</p>
<p>On a surface level, Dimitri supposed that he and Byleth were comically opposed—though, their core darkness had fostered kinship. He’d felt it since they chanced upon the mercenaries, with her strange poise and the unnatural calm that didn’t quite reach her eyes. He’d glimpsed the woman beneath only a few times since.</p>
<p>She seemed to like him, forming an easy friendship where much remained unspoken, yet understood. It was validating, in a way—to be seen without the process of baring one's self. It made him curious about her darkness. Was it like his own?</p>
<p>She was his supporter. Neither a vassal, nor a subject. He saw an ally on his path for vengeance—though, as things go, it was not in the way he had imagined.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>77</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue: Blue Blood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>While Byleth begins as a student within this fic, this is intended to be a loose novelisation of the game (with a few changes) so prepare for spoilers across each route!</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This game has ruined my life, and so I am writing about it. This will become somewhat canon-divergent as we go along, but things shouldn’t break the lore too badly :) The title of this fic comes from the song "Haythor" by Lord of the Lost.</p><p>Also, extreme TW: this is the tragedy of Duscur, it is very unpleasant to read.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>The sweltering heat of Duscur had not worn well on the young prince. He shifted uncomfortably in his carriage seat, willing that even a <em> single </em> puff of air would find itself through the window. His eyes wandered on the edge of delirium, meeting the similarly ill-looking gaze of Glenn Fraldarius on the other seat. </p><p>“Honestly, how does one even survive in this climate?” he pulled at the collar of his shirt. It was suitable for a crown prince, fine and formal—but his tailor had spared a thought for the setting. The fabric was meant to be light, absorbent and breathable, which in Fhirdiad, had made him mildly chilly. Now, he was immeasurably grateful. He would have died if he wore the heavy brocade clothes. </p><p>“I would be tempted to joke about your Highness’ <em> delicate constitution </em>, but it is truly, unseasonably warm,” Glenn sighed. “I have only been here once, but I do not recall it being this bad.” The heir of House Fraldarius was visibly wilted, his dark hair sticking to his forehead while his travelling jacket lay abandoned to the space next to him. </p><p>“At the risk of furthering your temptation to mock me: will we even survive this?” although in jest, Dimitri felt dramatic uttering the words—but at the moment, it seemed to be a reasonable worry. </p><p>“I will hold my tongue, your Highness. I imagine we have another few hours of travel,” he said kindly. “Think of the arrival for now. The night will be cool, and I’m sure they will have a nice, refreshing bath waiting.”</p><p>“I would take a dip in ice water at this juncture,” Dimitri grumbled. “I wonder how Lady Patricia is faring? All those skirts. Women truly have the worst of it with climate.”</p><p>“We men have a laugh at their expense, calling them the fairer sex and all,” Glenn said, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Yet I could find any maiden who would outlast me in weathering daily discomfort. Ingrid almost tore out my throat for suggesting this as a boon of femininity.”</p><p>“She would,” Dimitri agreed. He doubted if Ingrid found any boons at all in the gilded cage of her gender. “I wonder if that sore spot will get any better with time.”</p><p>“Only if her father could agree to let her be,” Glenn sighed. “I am not going to recant my affections because she wears breeches and likes weapons. It never occurs to him that I prefer a woman with whom I can share those parts of my life.”</p><p>Dimitri thought of the stories of his birth mother; she was a well-bred, immaculate noble woman—truly peerless, according to her servants and friends. She had never been a fighter, and nor was his step mother, Patricia. Both ladies fit with the expectations of their generation perfectly—and though times were changing for crest-bearing noblewomen, they were sluggish. Only heiresses were likely to sit a horse for anything other than leisure, hold a sword or thread a bow, and even then, their fathers found it far more preferable to marry them off to a stout warrior instead. Stories of women distinguishing themselves amongst the Knights of Seiros had rekindled the simmering rebellion amongst some noble girls, who were also quick to remind their aghast parents that Saint Seiros herself was a fierce warrior. </p><p>“Ingrid will make a fine knight,” Dimitri yawned. “She’s more dedicated than me, and even most squires. I wish her father would see that; she truly wants to live up to the ideal.”</p><p>Glenn had that dreamy look about him—he only allowed it to grace his stern Fraldarius features when he thought of his betrothed. “I agree. I have promised her something when the day comes; she is more excited about that than our wedding.”</p><p>“That does sound like her.”</p><p>“Have you given thought to your own prospects, your Highness?” Glenn asked. “Surely your father has been looking. You are, what, fourteen?”</p><p>“Almost,” Dimitri nodded. “He has mentioned it in passing, but,” the young prince broke off with a wince. “I avoid those conversations. It’s a bit embarrassing.”</p><p>“If there are no suitors, perhaps it is because your long hair and baby-face makes you prettier than the noble daughters.” The slyness had returned to Glenn’s voice. “Unless no girl has caught your eye? In that case, how <em> discerning </em> of you.”</p><p>Dimitri made a face. “You sound like Cornelia.”</p><p>“I could only dream to be that detestable. Though, I suppose it is good that your attention has not wavered—you need every advantage to improve your training,” Glenn said dryly. “If you <em> were </em> as womanizing as Sylvain it would at least give you an excuse for losing to me so often.”</p><p>“I almost had you before we left!”</p><p>“<em> Almost </em> is a hair’s breadth between having a head and not. The harsh conditions here will do you well; you’ll get less soft.”</p><p>Dimitri smiled. “One day I will treat you to a nine-course meal of your own words, Glenn.”</p><p>He bowed in his seat dramatically. “I eagerly await this honour, <em> your Highness </em>.”</p><p>***</p><p>The fitful doze that gripped Dimitri gave way to a more pleasant sleep as the evening turned into nightfall. The temperatures plunged as Glenn had predicted, allowing the Faerghus nobles well-needed respite. He was still profoundly uncomfortable—the sheen of sweat on his skin had gelled to a tacky consistency. While accustomed to grime and sweat for training, Dimitri ached for the ability to sink into a proper bath and don clean clothes. He reasoned that becoming dirty in training was <em> useful </em>. It was productive. This? It was simply passive, all-encompassing discomfort that gave nothing in return. His dreams turned from half-conscious feverishness to a more normal repose, and the young prince found himself fully slipping away at last—the creaking wheels of the carriage and clopping of horse hooves melted into blissful nothingness. </p><p>Then, they jerked to a stop, the carriage swinging so violently that it threw him to the floor, with Glenn landing atop him in an ungraceful heap. The two clawed their way apart, finding difficulty extricating themselves in the darkness. Dimitri found himself at the carriage window, sticking his head outside as though he hoped the curtain of black would part in some way. Glenn’s hand closed around his shoulder and pulled him back. </p><p>“Do not make yourself a target,” he hissed. </p><p>They listened. He could hear the shuffling of footsteps—soon punctuated by yelling, and the unmistakable sound of metal clashing. It took only a moment longer for screams to join the fray, fear and agony melding into a terrifying cacophony. Next to him, Dimitri felt Glenn move, with the distinctive, dull-sounding slide of his sword being unsheathed. An orange glow took hold of the outside, illuminating the dense, jungle-like forest in the window before them before it was overcome by haze. Dimitri inhaled sharply, and got a mouthful of smoke. </p><p>“Stay here,” Glenn said. He felt a draught as the carriage door pushed open—the young prince suddenly felt overwhelming panic. He was alone. He scrabbled at the seat, groping for his own blade. It took him several attempts to unsheathe it, and he was torn between taking long, calming breaths and choking as the smoke became thicker. </p><p>There were women screaming—no doubt the maids and his step-mother. He listened, trying to discern her voice from amongst them. He heard his father, stiffly giving orders, and felt a thrill of duelling comfort and fear. He stumbled out of the carriage; if his father was fighting, he would feel safer at his side—though if things had come to this, for the King himself to bear arms…</p><p>The first thing that hit him as he quitted the carriage was the <em> smell </em>. Somehow, he had just gotten the smoke of burning wood—but out here, there was more. Acrid, like roasting meat—burning his nose and leaving a residue thick on his tongue. There was the undercurrent of iron. It brought images of his first slain deer to mind—the meaty, bloody smell as Gustave taught him to skin and gut the creature. Dimitri picked the direction where his father’s voice seemed the strongest and ran. He stumbled across craggy rocks and potholes in the road, but kept going until he tripped over something much larger. He hit the dirt, hissing as he skinned his open palm, his one-handed grip on his sword sending it careening off to the side. </p><p>Something wet was spreading across his knees, soaking the thin material of his trousers.</p><p>It was barely warm, the night air quickly cooling the substance to iciness. He felt around with his injured hand, reasoning that at the very least, the unhurt one would stay that way if he found something dangerous. Instead, he felt the warmth and pliant skin of a human face. His fingers slid across a nose—open eyes and a hat. The wind changed direction, shifting the smoke and lifting it away. He was able to see the carriages engulfed by flames properly now, the horses bucking, running and screaming amongst the clashing bodies. Under his knees was the corpse of a man. Slack-visaged, and with a slit running all the way up his torso. In the dark, the blood was only barely red, but the firelight caught the glistening bits of <em> other </em> things that poked through the wound. The prince felt bile burn the back of his throat, but swallowed convulsively. He saw the glint of his sword and dove for it, stumbling to his feet. </p><p>
  <em> Where was his father? Glenn? His step-mother? </em>
</p><p>He ran towards the fires, hoping the light would help, that one of them would see him—or that he would see them. The heat was overwhelming, flowing across him in billowing waves. Someone grabbed his shoulder—he turned, hoping beyond hope before a fist collided with his face. He staggered, retaining the grip on his sword, swinging it—feeling the give under his blade, the scream of pain. Dimitri pushed the figure away, and it collapsed easily; he turned in the other direction and ran, barely avoiding more fallen bodies—some armoured, some not. He came to a dead halt when he locked eyes with his father. </p><p>King Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd cast a strong, imposing figure. It was always hoped that Dimitri would inherit his height and build, as it had a way of communicating power by one’s mere presence. His hair was not quite spun-gold, but it was regal nonetheless—even without the crown. His son had gotten a paler variant of this—though there was contention at court over whether it was desirable for it to darken as he aged. They shared the same, cornflower gaze. Patricia, his stepmother, had paid compliment to this: that his eyes, like his father’s, were not a cold blue. They held calm strength, softness and warmth. It was these eyes that stood out to Dimitri, in a mask of blood. His father’s hair was drenched in it—no longer blonde, but now dyed dark. There was no calm strength in his father’s gaze; there was panic. Pain. He was pleading with his son without words—but was it for help? Was it for him to run?</p><p>And then, he caught the sparkle of a sword that was suspended. Its glittering brutality would haunt him for the rest of his life—the way the flames danced across its strangely pristine surface, as though it had been kept carefully unsullied for this purpose. It went cleanly through. His father’s head hit the ground with a thud, and tumbled off like fallen fruit. His body jerked before tipping over gracelessly.</p><p>Dimitri felt the world swim; his head was burning, his lungs on fire—and he realised that he had been holding his breath. He gasped for air, finding only heat and ash. He ran. His face felt wet—he had mislaid the sword somewhere, but he could not recall where or when. If someone had given chase to him, he did not know; all he could think of was getting <em> away </em> from the memory that had been replaying, nonstop in his mind’s eye. He saw a shadowy figure ahead—from its silhouette, a woman. He skidded to a stop and tripped into the dirt. </p><p>It was his step-mother, staring down at him with wide, terrified eyes as though he was the walking dead. </p><p>“Father—they—they killed him,” his voice felt disembodied, as though he was a mere spectator to a scene where someone else played his role. He heard the sound of male voices yelling, directing each other, and he found himself gripping her wrist. She winced, crying out as the Blaiddyd strength leaked through the cracks in his self-control; she slipped from his grasp, whether due to the slickness of the blood on his hand or something else, he did not know. </p><p>She looked at him for only a moment longer. Her gaze was present, fleetingly, full of mixed emotions that he could not parse. The distraught expression melted away with the heat to something more determined and grim. Patricia was no longer looking at her step-son, but rather <em> through </em>him—as though she could see her next steps in those cornflower eyes. Turning swiftly on her heel, she darted towards the flames, hiking her skirts over her ankles; he reached out, the words caught in his throat when arms pulled him back. The bite of a blade met his back, and he screamed. His hand groped behind him, finding purchase in the eye-opening of a helm. He squeezed with all his might, feeling something crumbling and sodden giving way. He could no longer see Patricia’s silhouette in the all-consuming inferno. </p><p><br/>Dimitri fought desperately until he could no longer stand.</p><p>***</p><p>Rodrigue had not recalled such a feeling before. The half-dead squire that stumbled into his manor had barely been able to utter his message to the Duke before the lord and several of his men scrambled forth. Fear threatened to overwhelm the Shield of Fodlan as he tore across the landscape—the hours that stood between himself and the castle were simultaneously agonisingly long and swift. Paying little attention to his horse, Rodrigue abandoned the creature at the castle doors, skidding across the tiled floor and up the marble staircase. He only came to a halt when he reached the wing where the royal family kept their chambers. An oppressive weight flooded the air here, with servants and knights crowding the halls, seemingly bent by the overwhelming fog of it. </p><p>No one seemed to want to speak with him; all scattered at his approach, ceasing their frantic murmurs and tears. He saw the source of the congregation—the prince’s quarters, and stopped short of the door. He could make out the shapes of Gustave, sitting at the canopied bedside with his head in his hands, and the Grand Duke, standing stiffly to one side. Rufus’ cold eyes slid across to him, and for once, the sharp noble seemed lost for words. </p><p>“Is it true?” Rodrigue whispered. </p><p>He knew at once, from the look of keen torture on Gustave’s face when he removed his hand, that the worst had come to pass. He approached, catching sight of the prince. Dimitri was covered in cuts and scratches, with one arm completely bandaged and immobilised at his side. He seemed as still as death. Crumbling, Rodrigue slid to the floor.</p><p>“And Glenn has…”</p><p>Gustave’s voice was little more than a sob, “I am so sorry, Rodrigue.”</p><p>“Dimitri was found at his side, clutching his body,” Rufus said. “I can only imagine that your son fell whilst protecting him. The prince was barely clinging to life.”</p><p>“What happened? How could this—?” he rounded on Gustave, demanding answers. </p><p>Rufus held up a hand. “Let us not have this conversation here. The mages and doctors say the child must not be disturbed if he is to survive the night,”</p><p>The men quitted the room. Rufus led them down the hallway, deeper towards a familiar chamber. Rodrigue felt his heart sink into his stomach. The King’s bedchamber. He was unsure of which prospect was worse—to see Lambert, his friend, his <em> sovereign </em>, or to find what had become of his son. Steeling himself, he entered. </p><p>Lambert had been laid out in his regalia. They had cleaned him up as much as was possible, but he knew from the cloth laid over his neck, and the way that his head was supported on each side… </p><p>“Yes, Gustave,” Rufus continued sharply. “What occurred? I heard little from you since I have also just arrived.”</p><p>“I do not know,” the Knight’s eyes were fixed to the hidden wound. “His Majesty had given me leave to visit my wife and daughter—I was to join the rear guard that evening, but when I arrived…”</p><p>Rodrigue sat in the chair at the King’s desk, where he had witnessed his friend agonise over many a letter. “I imagine that Lady Patricia has also been killed.”</p><p>“It is assumed, yes,” Rufus said. “We have found no body, but with the carnage, it is possible she was burned to ash—or her corpse was pulled into the jungle by animals—”</p><p>Gustave made a sound low in his throat. “Your Grace, I beg you.”</p><p>Rufus barely concealed an impatient sigh. “We must identify the culprits. They must feel the swift wrath of the Holy Kingdom; this is <em> unforgivable </em>.”</p><p>“Who could raise a force like this? To intercept and kill a royal guard like this—to kill the King,” Rodrigue shook his head. “Was this a coup?”</p><p>Rufus was silent for a moment. “It would make little sense as I remain alive...unless you imply that I—”</p><p>“Of course not, Your Grace,” Rodrigue snapped. For once, Rufus stood down. It was rare for the Duke to lose his temper like this. “But what else could it be?”</p><p>“The area they were ambushed on was a choke point,” Gustave explained. “The jungle was thick and able to hide their forces within its walls. The roads were narrow, and they forced the guards to thin down to fit,”</p><p>“Perhaps it was the people of Duscur,” Rufus said quietly. “With knowledge of the land, they could have evened the playing field quite easily.”</p><p>“But would they have done this—knowing the consequences?” Gustave looked pensively at the floor. “What would they have expected?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Rufus said. “When people are angry, they don’t think. You’ve dealt with mobs before.”</p><p>“This was <em> planned </em>,” Gustave insisted. “Not mob behaviour at all. You’d expect that sort of attack to be frenzied, disorganised.”</p><p>Rufus looked coldly from the knight, to his brother’s corpse. “Is this not a frenzy, to you? Look at what remains of the other knights.”</p><p>Rodrigue flinched. “That brings me to my more personal question. Where is my son?”</p><p>“They’ve cleaned him up and placed him in the cellar,” Gustave explained. “But...my friend…”</p><p>“What is it?” </p><p>“You must think about whether you want to take him home in this state,” he said. “There was not much to identify him, other than the presence of the prince at his corpse and his armour,” he paused, closing his eyes. “We believe this is also how Prince Dimitri found him as well.”</p><p>“Take me to him,” Rodrigue said, his voice hollow. “I must go to him.” </p><p>They quitted the room, leaving the Grand Duke—now regent, with his deceased brother. All Rodrigue could think about were his son’s final moments. Had he been frightened? No, Glenn was stalwart. He’d never seen the boy so much as <em> flinch </em>, even under the greatest pressure. Glenn would have held out to the bitter end, fighting with every fibre of his being until his body gave out. Would he be reunited with his mother? It was the only comforting thought right now—that his son, the king, and all of the others had transitioned to a new plane, amongst those who had been lost years ago. This left him and Felix quite alone, and he shuddered to think of the new burden that was placed upon the young boy. Unlike his elder brother, Felix was softer. Less abrasive...more childlike and kind. In a way, their house would mourn two deaths, for that sweet little boy had no place as the heir.</p><p>“We’re here, Rodrigue.”</p><p>He snapped to attention at once. Even through the closed door, he could detect the strong, cloying smell of death. It was slightly sweet, meaty and thick, sticking to the back of his throat as he took a breath to brace himself. They pushed in. The Goddess herself could not have prepared him for what he was about to see.</p><p>When Rodrigue finally left the castle, he did so without his son.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Azure, Crimson and Verdant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>- 1180, Great Tree Moon -</p>
<p>Petrichor filled the air, its bitterness anchoring into the throats of the three lords as they tore through the woods. Claude stopped briefly to nock and release an arrow in a single, fluid movement. Dimitri brought up the rear, trusting only in his comrade’s arm—in prodigious fashion, he could faintly hear an answering cry and thump in the distance. A rising din of more voices soon eclipsed their footsteps. He groaned inwardly; the rest of their pursuers had finally caught on. </p>
<p>“I can take down more of them,” Claude yelled. “If we stop for a moment.”</p>
<p>“No, Claude. The bandits will have archers too,” Edelgard told him. Her voice was ragged with exertion—she’d been practically falling over herself with the effort to keep up with the taller men as they ran. “If you let off an arrow now, it will be answered by many more. You may be adept in fielding them, but we will not be.”</p>
<p>“We need cover, and we need aid,” Dimitri said. Edelgard almost tripped, her boot catching on a stray rock momentarily, causing her to stumble. He caught her by the back of her cloak, dragging her forward with a slight push to help her right herself, and to keep her in front of him. “Apologies for that, Edelgard, but I cannot let you fall behind me. Your armour won’t withstand an arrow.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” she said. “I see a village up in the distance. Do you think we will find help? Or should we flee to the forest to take our chances?”</p>
<p>“No, the forest would be suicide. Even if we find no one willing in the village, we’ll have something to shelter behind,” Claude said. </p>
<p>Dimitri cut them short before the debate could continue. “Quickly, before the bandits find ground to begin firing at us!”</p>
<p>The arrival of the lordlings was not quiet; they splashed through the mud with armour clanking and ragged panting, drawing open stares and surprised murmurs from the villagers. The sun had almost risen now, and people seemed to be out and about for their morning chores. </p>
<p>Dimitri locked eyes with the most capable-looking man from amongst the throng—one who was wearing leathers, a somewhat dented breastplate, and a sword belt. </p>
<p>“Sir! We are students of the Officer’s Academy at Garreg Mach. We seem to be in a bit of trouble—if there are more men who can fight, we are willing to pay for your help.”</p>
<p>The man blinked for a moment, his eyes sweeping over the fine clothing of the three, lingering on the filigree insignia, before regaining his senses. “My mercenary company is still here, my lord—I will fetch our leader!”</p>
<p>“Oh, what luck,” Edelgard let out a long, relieved sigh, bracing her hands on her knees.</p>
<p>“Indeed,” Dimitri looked towards the village gate behind him. </p>
<p>No doubt the men were still in hot pursuit, and would arrive shortly. The villagers, sensing the impending danger, had ceased their gawking and had scattered. There was a flurry of motion as scores returned to their buildings, leaving the streets all but deserted. </p>
<p>The man had not gone far; the sound of wet footsteps around the corner told him that their help was approaching. Dimitri turned to behold a middle-aged, well-built and formidable-looking blonde man, clad in armour atop a white horse. Next to him was a striking young woman with an ethereal—almost elfin quality about her. She looked quite close in age to them, also armoured and with a buckler shield strapped to her forearm. Her dominant hand rested on her sword hilt casually, her eyes flitting from face to face. While the man looked apprising, perhaps even a little apprehensive—the young woman was eerily calm. A thin line of battle-hardened men filed behind them, hanging back and looking to the pair for further instruction. </p>
<p>“Now what’s all this commotion about bandits?” the grizzled man tilted his head to one side. “Kids? And that uniform—”</p>
<p>“We attend the academy at Garreg Mach,” Dimitri said quickly. </p>
<p>Edelgard nodded. “We were attacked whilst setting up camp, and have been separated from our guard.”</p>
<p>As if punctuating her words, they heard a triumphant whoop behind them—they had been found. The young woman’s brow creased slightly, and she drew her sword. </p>
<p>A mercenary—a lookout, perhaps, came galloping back. “There are <em> lots </em>of them, headed right this way.”</p>
<p>Her voice was clear and businesslike. “Maybe we should lead them away from the village,”</p>
<p>“You’re right,” the older man nodded. “We can’t abandon the village now. I’ll take up the charge, you watch over these young ones.”</p>
<p>Claude gaped at them, as if disbelieving his own luck. “Just like that—?”</p>
<p>The man kicked off. “Just like that, son! Try not to get killed.”</p>
<p>The woman studied the three carefully. “Come. We foot-soldiers will flank them after the mounted force engages,” her eyes settled on each for a moment, sweeping over their armour and weapons. “You with the lance will stem the flow to what we can handle. The archer will pick off anyone threatening to break the line,” she looked at Edelgard. “You and I will engage at close range.”</p>
<p>Dimitri found himself nodded—his head was swimming. Who were these people? The young woman moved off, and he forced himself to call after her as a handful of mercenaries plodded in her wake. “Wait, what is your name?”</p>
<p>“Byleth.”</p>
<p>He turned it over in his head—strange, not quite common, but not aristocratic, either. It seemed surreal, like a name out of a legend, or a book. Fitting, he thought, as he watched her lead them to a thicket around the corner, out of sight of the village. The mercenary leader and the other mounted men were already engaged. Moving on instinct, he tripped a bandit who attempted to skirt the battle and surround the mounted men—his lance came down with a dull <em> thunk </em>, into the space the helmet did not cover. </p>
<p>Byleth, their impromptu commander, had wasted no time; her sword glinted in the early morning sun, sweeping wide arcs as her buckler pushed her opponents’ weapons aside. It was akin to watching a deadly dance—she wasted little movement, aiming for throats and joints with relative ease. He could see the awe suspended in Edelgard's eyes as she stood back-to-back with the mercenary, a strange smile spreading wider across the princess’ face with each felled foe. The battle stretched on for a time, both seeming too long but strangely clipped—through his grim task, Dimitri felt the lines thin. </p>
<p>He had considered the battle almost won, when a gravelly, snivelling sort of voice cut across the din.</p>
<p>“You—Jeralt the Blade Breaker? By the Goddess, what the hell would an elite mercenary like you be doing here?” </p>
<p>The cry drew his attention to a small, raised outcropping. Judging from his perch, this man seemed to be their leader; his unshaven, scarred face was contorted in horror, eyes fixed to the blonde mercenary leader who had torn through his men. </p>
<p>“Passing through, mostly,” the mercenary—Jeralt, called with a smile. His voice was collegial, but it carried a hint of deadliness underneath. “Besides, I’m the one who should be complaining, I’m caught up in the mess you started!”</p>
<p>The bandit leader’s voice rose louder, and shriller as though he could scream his trepidation away. “Kill them all if you want to make it out of here alive. We came here for the lords, but I want all of them dead!” his eyes slid to them—and Dimitri felt his shoulders tense. “And there’s the Ashen Demon. I’ll take your head first!” The bandit kicked off, his horse jumping off the small ledge with his convoy of men. </p>
<p>“Don’t get distracted!” Byleth’s voice was commanding—firm but without urgency. “I will handle him.”</p>
<p>He could do no less than to believe her—after all, she felled countless goons before them, and handled herself in this throng as though she’d been born to it. It was <em> effortless </em>, and he knew when he exchanged glances with his companions, they had thought the same. </p>
<p>This was nothing like the monastery—this was gritty, bloody and dirty <em> life. </em></p>
<p>Dimitri routed some of the incoming men, his lance blade breaking in the process—though it was not entirely useless until he broke the handle over a man’s head. Tearing a fresh one from the hands of a corpse, he rounded on the remaining hordes. Seamlessly, Claude’s arrows found their purchase quickly, thinning his deluge to a nearly manageable amount; he spared a glance to the women, who were having an easy time of it, pushing forward as he and Claude cleared a path towards Jeralt and his men. </p>
<p>The bandit leader was circling, axe in hand; perhaps he had thought better of making a head-on attack. Wary eyes were fixed to Byleth, calculating, but never getting within striking range as his other men absorbed the attention of the archers. The mercenary turned her attention to him as the mounted bandits seemed rearing to charge. It was a desperate move, and would likely cause the bandits to trample their own men; while Dimitri felt little sympathy for them, he knew that against a wave of mounted attacks <em> and </em> the foot soldiers, things could get overwhelming quickly.</p>
<p>Byleth met his gaze and Dimitri felt a jolt run to his knees. “Fell him from the horse.” </p>
<p>Without question, Dimitri trusted her—he would be open to attack after the lance left his hands, but he obeyed. With little restraint, he let the weapon fly. She had closed the distance between them, pushing and slicing until Edelgard caught up. Byleth had only spared a glance to ensure the man was down after Edelgard arrived, before refocusing her efforts on protecting Dimitri. Once satisfied that the leader was unmoving, the prince pried a sword from under a limp body.</p>
<p>“It’s fine, I can defend myself now!” he called. </p>
<p>She seemed to trust him too—she did not give him a second look, but rather, sought to mop up some of the straggling bandits to give Claude some space. The men had noticed their commander’s fall, and were quickly losing their nerve. Dodging became sporadic, strikes became tentative—all the easier for the killing, he reasoned. This was easy slaughter, perhaps a bit <em> too </em> tempting to get lost in, but the voices, thirsty for blood and vengeance whispered their praise.</p>
<p>Soon enough, their fighting had all but finished; the mounted mercenaries were giving chase to the stragglers, leaving the foot soldiers to look on. A sense of triumph had burrowed into Dimitri’s chest, though he could not help his distaste for it. He walked the battlefield, lance in hand, looking at the bodies for signs of movement. Healers from the mercenary group had begun patching up survivors—both their own men and any badly wounded bandits. The smell of iron was thick in the air now. It coated the back of his tongue with each breath, bringing back flashes of a different time. The ghosts and their whispers grew stronger.</p>
<p>A shrill, triumphant yell brought him to his senses again.</p>
<p>He knew the source before he set eyes on it; Dimitri cursed himself for not aiming better. The mud-covered bandit leader had extricated himself from the dead horse rather unscathed, and was now running, axe in hand and full-tilt towards Edelgard. She had separated from the line of mercenaries, her axe either broken or fallen. She drew a familiar dagger—Dimitri’s heart all but stopped. The stragglers had rallied—and he could hear the screams and grunts of fighting anew. The young prince caught a bandit before he could find him unawares, the offending head falling clean off. He flung himself towards the melee—but something felt strange. </p>
<p>A sense of nostalgia ghosted over his senses. It was faint, but persistent. </p>
<p>Byleth was there at once, her sword catching the bottom of the axehead at just the right angle to jerk the weapon from the bandit leader’s hands. Her face was twisted in anger as a fist came down with more power than Dimitri expected, tossing the man back onto the grass. He scrambled back, spotting the look of death on the approaching prince’s face. Dimitri balanced the lance to throw it again. This time he would not miss.</p>
<p>“No—no this ain’t worth it,” the bandit leader turned tail, almost tripping on the soft dirt. The dregs of his group fell back with him, obscuring him from view before the prince could find his aim.</p>
<p>Dimitri must have looked as though he would give chase, because he felt a hand on his arm. </p>
<p>“Leave it be,” Byleth said quietly. “If you follow them now we’ll split our forces and our protection will be for nothing.”</p>
<p>He paused for a moment before relenting. She was right—though, with his bloodlust, he was only able to admit this to himself in the face of her skill. She’d jumped into this mess without flinching, confirming to the lords that they’d been playing glorified war games the whole time. Edelgard seemed to be having the same thought as their eyes met, and the adrenaline began to ebb. Claude meanwhile, was crouched on the out-cropping; he let out a low whistle as he surveyed the carnage. </p>
<p>“So this is what the professionals are capable of.”</p>
<p>Jeralt trotted to their side, his gaze fixed to Byleth, whose face still carried the vestiges of annoyance. “Kid, did you just—?”</p>
<p>The thunderous noise of approaching hooves made the mercenaries stiffen again—none of them had put up their weapons. Instead of more dirty, bedraggled bandits, the sun shone on the immaculate, silvery white armour of holy knights as they swept out of the forest. Dimitri felt himself relax. Now, they were well and truly safe. </p>
<p>“I still see them fleeing!” Alois called. “Ensure none of them escape!” He steered his horse through the field of bodies. Dimitri, the tallest of the lot held up his hand—Alois spotted him at once, and a visible relief washed over his face. “Thank the Goddess, the students are unharmed—and who is that?”</p>
<p>Jeralt let out a long, beleaguered sigh. “Why him?”</p>
<p>Byleth cocked her head towards him, but remained silent. Alois approached, looking more astonished than the three had ever seen him.</p>
<p>“Captain Jeralt?” he blinked several times in quick succession, jumping down from his horse without delay. “Is that you? By the Goddess, it’s been years!” When the old mercenary remained silent, the knight seemed to fumble. “Don’t you recognise me? It’s Alois! Your old right-hand man...or, rather, that was how I thought of myself, anyway,”</p>
<p>The three lords exchanged a look. Alois was an <em> interesting </em> character, to be sure, but they had rarely witnessed him this genuinely unseated. Dimitri continued to study the young woman at his side, who seemed to retain her impassive, calm demeanour, but he could practically see the wheels turning in her head as her eyes darted between the two men.</p>
<p>“It must have been what, twenty years since you went missing? I always knew you were still alive!” Alois grasped Jeralt’s hand with both of his own, overjoyed.</p>
<p>Jeralt did not seem as enthused. “You haven’t changed a bit,” he sighed. “Loud as ever—and drop the ‘captain’ nonsense, I’m not your captain any more.” He withdrew his hand, casting a weary gaze to his men. “I’m just a wandering mercenary these days—one who has work to do in the Kingdom. We’re already late to move out. Good-bye, old friend.”</p>
<p>Alois seemed so stunned that he caught himself mid nod and mid sentence, “Ah yes, good-bye, Captain—wait, that’s not how this goes!” he shook his head vigorously enough for the metal of his cloak clasp to clink sharply against his armour. “I insist you return to the monastery with us! You never did tell us what happened to you—this warrants more inspection!”</p>
<p>Jeralt wilted, closing his eyes. “Garreg Mach Monastery. I suppose this was inevitable,”</p>
<p>“And what about this young woman? You could be the same age as our students,” Alois gave Byleth a once-over. “so young to be a mercenary. There isn’t much resemblance, but there is something about your manner—” his eyebrows rose skyward, “are you the Captain’s child?”</p>
<p>Byleth, without hesitation, nodded. So, this was a father-daughter mercenary duo—how bizarre, Dimitri thought. But, it was endearing, in a way. How long had she been living this life? Had she grown up in battle?</p>
<p>Was that, perhaps, why she was so preternaturally composed? So skillful?</p>
<p>His mind was buzzing. He did know one thing, however—he <em> needed </em> someone of her ilk. She could aid him in crushing his enemies without pause—the voices concurred, murmuring their approval. This Byleth could help him on his journey; she would be a boon to Faerghus. He glanced at his companions, who were taking in the scene as the band of mercenaries slowly began to grow restless. No doubt, from the calculation behind Edelgard’s eyes, as well as the cunning smile on Claude’s face, he was not the only one thinking of retaining their saviour. </p>
<p>“You should of course, come to the monastery too,” Alois told her, before looking at his old captain’s face. “What’s troubling you, Captain? Not considering another disappearance, are you?”</p>
<p>“I’m not foolish enough to run from the Knights of Seiros,” Jeralt replied flatly. “Alright, let me deal with this mess properly now. I have to speak to my men.” </p>
<p>Alois gave a respectful nod, watching the man’s retreating frame with an air of wistfulness before catching himself. “Ah, your Highnesses! I will retrieve your horses.”</p>
<p>Dimitri caught the sidelong look that Byleth shot his way; it was the most surprised she seemed through the whole ordeal. She took a step away from them, a crease reappearing between her brows. </p>
<p>“Ah—yes, we did not mention who we were. I firstly want to thank you for your help—your skill is beyond question.” Edelgard said. “You’re clearly an experienced mercenary—and your father is called Jeralt the Blade Breaker? I’ve heard of him: former captain of the Knights of Seiros, oft praised as the strongest knight to ever live. Have I missed anything?”</p>
<p>Byleth glanced at her father; he was speaking to the ranks of his mercenaries, who all seemed thoroughly put out. “I didn’t know he was a captain,” she said quietly. There was no hurt in the statement, no disappointment or surprise—it just <em> was </em>.</p>
<p>Edelgard raised her eyebrows. “How curious. I imagine the explanation for that is fascinating indeed.” </p>
<p>Claude sidled in, his smooth voice cutting across the din across the field. “You <em> are </em> coming with us to the monastery, correct? Of course you are—I’d love to bend your ear as we travel,” he massaged his arm, giving it a tentative flex before wincing. “I must say it was lucky we came across your band. We were doing training exercises when the thieves found us—I definitely got the worst of it,” he sighed dramatically.</p>
<p>“That would be because you ran off,”</p>
<p>“Ah—yes I was the first to make a strategic retreat,” he nodded. </p>
<p>Dimitri’s eyes kept wandering towards the young woman as their argument progressed into full-on, noble bickering. She did not seem put off by their antics, though, she was not amused either. If he had to wager a bet, she was still deeply confused about the turn of the evening, and was caught up in processing everything. The thought made him feel a sliver of warmth towards this stranger—after all, he knew the way tumultuous life changes could go—though his own recollections were far more savage. Perhaps if he had been like her, he would have been able to do something.</p>
<p>“In any case,” he cut across his comrades, giving Byleth a polite, half-bow. “Forgive our digression. I must speak with you, if you can spare a moment. The way you held your ground against that bandit leader was captivating,” she blinked up at him, and he felt himself go slightly red. Perhaps he was being too effusive? No—of course not. “You gave orders flawlessly, and you never lost control of the situation. You have shown me that I still have much to learn. Your father said that your next job was in the Kingdom, is that correct?”</p>
<p>Edelgard, shrewd as she was, dove in without pause as Byleth considered her answer. “Your skill is precisely why I must ask that you lend your service to the Empire. Allow me to introduce myself,” Edelgard put a hand to her chest. “I am the Imperial—”</p>
<p>Oh, <em> definitely not </em>. </p>
<p>“Halt, Edelgard,” he stepped closer towards Byleth, as though the reduced distance would ward off further interruptions. “Please allow me to finish my own proposition. The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus is in dire need of exceptional individuals like yourself. As you were already planning on journeying there, I will extend an invitation as the crown prince: please, do consider returning to the Kingdom with me.” He finished the request with his most princely smile—Byleth had craned her neck to keep him within her line of sight, and now looked markedly confused. Her eyes darted to his side, where the annoyed Imperial princess had appeared. </p>
<p>“Woah, there!” Claude’s hand snaked into the fray, grasping Byleth’s arm and steering her towards him, before releasing her with a sunny grin. “You two are so <em> hasty </em> . Trying to recruit someone you just met. Tactless, really,” he said with a laugh. “Now that I’ve rescued you from <em> their Highnesses </em> , I would suggest that we can develop a deep and lasting friendship on our journey back to the monastery,” he winked. “ <em> Then </em> I will beg you for a favour.”</p>
<p>“Honestly, Claude,” Edelgard shot at him. “You, speaking of tact?”</p>
<p>“Yes, yes,” he waved her off. “I must appear as a brute to you, with my talk of <em> time </em> and <em> place </em>. It seems that we no longer have time for niceties, no matter the place,” Claude rolled his eyes skyward. “Well then, capable stranger, where does your allegiance lie?”</p>
<p>Byleth’s confused expression simply deepened—she seemed rather overwhelmed. Dimitri caught her eye and gave her an encouraging smile. Her gaze remained fixed on him as she opened her mouth—triumph rose in his chest like a lion—</p>
<p>“Ah, Your Highnesses,” Alois called. “I apologise for interrupting, but the mounts have arrived. There is no time for small-talk. We should begin moving!”</p>
<p>“Saved by Alois,” Claude drawled. “He prevented you from making a particularly bad decision,” he nudged at Byleth, sparing an impish glance towards Dimitri, who managed to remain impassive. Edelgard was staring at him too—with an expression that was not <em> quite </em> petulance, but was awfully close. Claude had looped his arm through Byleth’s, and was leading her towards the horses. </p>
<p>He followed them—he felt reasonably assured of his victory this time. Even as a near-stranger, he felt that he understood her better than they did. That woman had a peculiar sense about her; the smooth, neutral exterior belied something else. He’d picked up a hint of this when they met in the village, but his hunch was cemented when he saw her fight. It was in her effortlessness, her surety and her complete lack of hesitation. Even now, her steady gait bore no regret as she stepped across corpses and past carnage. When he’d met her gaze, he saw there, shifting briefly behind those eyes. Not a soldier, but a <em> killer </em>. It looked back at him, measuring him like an apex predator—not seething and baneful, but dangerous nonetheless.</p>
<p>It was a quite familiar, and oddly comforting feeling.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The monastery looked quite grand as they quitted the forest; the bright morning sun shone off the walls, winking in the distant windows to create spots of sparkling, blinding glare as the contingent made its way up the hill. It was always in these moments—when he was approaching or leaving, that Dimitri could truly feel the majesty of Garreg Mach. Though the Holy Kingdom was of course, at least nominally pious, he had never been one to feel the sense of spiritual awe that others did...except in these moments. </p>
<p>“Home sweet home,” Alois chimed. </p>
<p>Nearby, Jeralt seemed rather less enthused. He surveyed the looming structure as though it was a sleeping beast. His daughter was in line with the three lords, lambent eyes raised to survey the monastery in mild wonder. Given her upbringing, she had likely never come across a structure like this—especially if their meeting in that grubby hamlet was anything to go by. As they entered the grounds, he spotted the flowing mint hair and glimmering headdress of the archbishop. The three lords half-bowed in respect, to which she responded with one of her smiling nods. Her eyes soon fixed to their newest mercenary pair, and Dimitri heard Jeralt exhale with a hiss. </p>
<p>“Of course Rhea is here.”</p>
<p>Now <em> that </em> was interesting—who could presume to speak about the archbishop with such familiarity? Throughout their journey, he had few opportunities to speak to the former knight, as Alois had spent almost every moment he could chattering. Meanwhile, the lords were in a three-way battle for Byleth Eisner’s attention. He fancied himself the winner of this particular skirmish, even if only by inches. Edelgard managed to be a little <em> too </em> haughtily persistent, Claude far too impishly flippant—while he had plastered a good-natured smile on his face and remained relatively quiet when she inevitably fled to his side of the camp. </p>
<p>Alois had swept Jeralt and Byleth away as they entered the main hall, shepherding them towards the second floor where they would no doubt have an audience with Lady Rhea. Dimitri found himself accosted by his house—eclipsing his final view of them as they disappeared up the staircase.</p>
<p>“Highness!” Ingrid exclaimed, “Is it true that you were all attacked? We heard rumours, and all of a sudden more of the knights left—”</p>
<p>Dedue looked haggard. “I should have come with you.”</p>
<p>“Did you fight them?” Felix asked sharply.</p>
<p>“Were any of you hurt?” Mercedes fretted. </p>
<p>Sylvain was craning his neck. “Was that a <em> girl </em> you brought back?”</p>
<p>“Okay, okay,” he found himself half-laughing. “I’ll explain everything later. First let me get out of my armour.”</p>
<p>“Yes, we should let His Highness rest a bit,” Ashe interjected. </p>
<p>The young prince barely managed to extricate himself from his classmates. The staff of the monastery were bustling about, evidently having been preparing for their arrival for some time. As he expected, he found a hot bath waiting at the dormitories. The water soothed his muscles, steam tickling his nose as it contrasted with the slight nip in the air. </p>
<p>If only, in returning to safety—to his friends, to his routine life—he could relax. Yet when he closed his weary eyes, the flashes of the battle mingled with his memories of Duscur. The voices of those lost filled the silence around him, admonishing him for his respite, curtly demanding that he suffer as they did. </p>
<p>It was a constant reminder, whispering on the edges of happy conversations with the others—it was the tasteless chew of the meal that he shared with them later in the evening. The scars of that day seemed to be everywhere he turned. Thus, having come back to his <em> duty</em>, Dimitri set himself firmly to the road ahead. Still, he was convinced that the mysterious, skilled Byleth Eisner would be of use to him in this end. That aside, she was strangely captivating—alien, somehow. He did not lay eyes on her, nor her father for the rest of the day, but more rumours abounded. The great Jeralt the Blade Breaker had returned—and his mercenary daughter would be joining the monastery. Whether as a student or something else, the accounts were vague, but he held onto hope that whatever her station—he could find a way to endear her to his service. No doubt, Edelgard and Claude were already scheming as well. The latter for the fun of it, and Edelgard, well, because she could never stand losing.</p>
<p>He went to bed with a strange sense of nervous anticipation.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. An Ashen Demon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dimitri considers his approach and his motivations, while Byleth grapples with the voice in her head and her new, more emotional self.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone! Thank you for the comments and kudos thus far. </p><p>To put it plainly, this chapter jumps right in with some dark shit, because we cannot be in Dimitri's head without the dark shit. We also finally get a chance to take a stroll in Byleth's point of view this chapter, and this poor girl is just so confused.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The following day began almost normally, though this illusion was quite fragile. Dimitri and his classmates continued to settle into their dormitories, but there was a new undercurrent of excitement. The students were all excited to be assigned their new professors, of course, but after hearing versions of the <em> daring rescue </em> from Claude, Dimitri and Edelgard, they were now rather caught up in finding their newly arrived heroine. </p><p>“I thought I saw her at breakfast this morning,” Sylvain said with a dramatic sigh. “But she was sitting with the professors and the knights.”</p><p>“Why didn’t you approach her?” Annette smiled mischievously.</p><p>“Have you seen her father? Aside from his reputation, he just <em> looks </em> like he could cut someone in half with a butter-knife.”</p><p>Felix looked up from his work; he’d been methodically ignoring their chatter as he oiled the blade of the Fraldarius heirloom sword. “Could he be our new professor? I’d like to face him.”</p><p>“I don’t think Lady Rhea would spare a knight like him for teaching,” Ingrid said wistfully. “His legend is even bigger than <em> Catherine’s</em>, and everyone thought him dead for almost twenty years.”</p><p>“Maybe we’ll get Professor Manuela,” Sylvain grinned, ducking out of the way as Ingrid launched a training shield in his direction.</p><p>“What? I want a great doctor to be watching over me for the year, it’s got <em> nothing </em> to do with her absolutely peerless—” he broke off this time, a testament to the strength of Ingrid’s arm as she met her mark. Sylvain doubled over, clutching his abdomen as his complaints were marred by coughing.</p><p>“I want a proper swordsman to teach us,” Felix continued, raising the blade to study its surface in the sunlight. “Both Hanneman and Manuela are magic specialists. It’d waste our skills to get them.”</p><p>“I also hope that we can get a professor with more weapons experience,” Dimitri agreed. “Though, of course, I’m sure whomever we get will do a fantastic job. This is Garreg Mach, after all.”</p><p>“You don’t need much training, do you?” Felix shot at him. “Just hit everything with that monster strength of yours and you’ll be fine. Training is for people, not animals.”</p><p><em>“Felix!"</em> Ingrid exclaimed, her tone warning. “You can’t talk to His Highness like that.”</p><p>“Am I wrong, boar-prince?” the Fraldarius’ heir studied him intently, his amber-brown eyes carrying pure distaste. </p><p>Dimitri managed a smile, and his tone was light. “You do know me quite well, Felix. Perhaps it is as you say. Regardless, I think I might benefit from some more finesse.”</p><p>Ingrid looked at each of them, the crease deepening between her brows before she seemingly admitted defeat, marching off to continue her lancework. Rather than being put off by Felix’s words, Dimitri found himself strangely grateful for them. They always anchored him, serving to remind him of what he truly was. After all, Felix had <em> seen </em> that side of him. If he had fallen in line with the others in simply pretending that the prince’s affable exterior was real— <em> that </em> would have left a deeper cut. It was a strange duality, really. The only other person who’d witnessed the depths of his depravity was Dedue, who in contrast was fully accepting and almost worshipful of his brutality. The future King of Faerghus worried about many things, after all it came with the job—but chief among them was the temptation to buy into the positive image that others held. It truly frightened him to think of that beast—that bloody, evil creature that he could become as a good thing. Without a voice that said otherwise, he would have given into it. He would have <em> gladly </em> done so, in fact, because who does not want to feel like a good person?</p><p>But Dimitri was not.</p><p>And he trusted that Felix would remind him—loudly and often.</p><p>The Blue Lions wandered towards the dining hall in a messy knot of students; he could smell the food from the moment they had reached the stairs. It heightened the hunger pang in his stomach, but it also came with a grinding frustration that he was never sure he’d shake. It was strange how eating was a singularly annoying pastime now. Dimitri ate because he had to—as per his crest, his extreme strength and stamina came at the price of needing well, extreme amounts of sustenance. Yet, it just served as a constant spectre of his loss—of the little prince who’d died on that Duscur roadway. That boy had <em> loved </em> mealtimes, after all, they were one of the few times he would be amongst his family for the day. Now, even amongst his friends, it was a shameful spectre—an exercise in monotony, like a small moment of purgatory.</p><p>He found himself with Dedue and Ingrid, seated at a table where a few Golden Deer students were still milling about. Lorenz, in all his noble grandeur had risen and given him a proper bow—ignoring the snickering and smiles around him. Dimitri nodded in good grace; Lorenz had always been one for proper protocol, even amongst the nobility of foreign lands. It opened him to his fair share of ridicule, but the prince found that he could not be too judgemental of this kind of adherence to duty—even if it was pompous.</p><p>“Are you excited about the announcements today?” Hilda grinned.</p><p>“There’s more than one?” Ingrid asked, pausing with her fork suspended over an absolutely <em> massive </em> portion of pheasant.</p><p>“You know about the professors, that one’s the boring one,” Hilda said with a hand-wave. “But apparently, Lady Rhea is allowing Byleth Eisner to choose her own house. It’s all on account of her being nomadic and such—but I think the archbishop is just doing this to butter up her dad.”</p><p>Dimitri’s attention snapped to the conversation at once. “Is she making that decision today?”</p><p>Hilda nodded. “Yup. She was here when Claude had lunch, he spent the whole time canoodling. We barely got a word in edgewise.”</p><p>On his left side, Lorenz sounded scandalised; even without looking at him, Dimitri could envision his expression. “She bows like a <em> man.</em>”</p><p>“You think mercenaries learn to curtsy?” Hilda asked him. <em>“Ah yes my good bandit, let us perform the prescribed niceties before I lop thine head clean off!” </em></p><p>“Ha-ha,” the lavender-haired man repeated dryly. “I do not expect noble manners, <em> of course </em>, but it is rather jarring to see a beautiful young woman comport herself like a common wastrel.”</p><p>“Common wastrel, Goddess, you’re harsh,” she shook her head. “Isn’t it harsh, Dimitri?”</p><p>The prince furrowed his brow. “From my recollection, she is rather inoffensive as mercenaries go, Lorenz.”</p><p>“Right? I saw her eat; she devours a lot of food, but she can even use a knife and fork! Imagine that! Commoners and <em> cutlery</em>.”</p><p>“Please do not mock me, Hilda,” Lorenz sighed.</p><p>“With a face like that it’d be such a pity not to,” Hilda smiled sweetly. “Besides, weren’t you the one who told Claude that I didn’t put the books out in the classroom this morning?”</p><p>Lorenz cleared his throat. “I simply observed.”</p><p>“Uh-huh.”</p><p>“I wonder if she’s already made up her mind,” Ingrid said, raising her goblet to her lips. “What do you think, Your Highness?”</p><p>“I’m not sure,” Dimitri admitted. “Though I wish I could at least speak with her before she informs Lady Rhea.”</p><p>“Perhaps the archbishop purposefully did not inform the house leaders of this,” Dedue pointed out. “She might have predicted a—”</p><p>“Mad dash? A legendary battle? A pathetic display of begging?” Hilda interjected.</p><p>“An altercation,” Dedue continued flatly. “Though I imagine the Black Eagles are already aware.”</p><p>Ingrid sighed. “We’re the last to know then?”</p><p>“Do not worry, Ingrid,” Dimitri took a tasteless mouthful of food, and washed it down with a tasteless mouthful of his drink before continuing. “I believe she will choose us.”</p><p>“You’re going to go looking for her, aren’t you?” Hilda smiled. </p><p>“I may walk the grounds after lunch to relax a bit,”</p><p>“God, you three are all the same.”</p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Byleth’s day had gone by in a storm of gawking and small-talk. After extricating herself from the dining hall, she retreated to one of the porches that flanked the cathedral. Seteth had given her a cursory, though still disapproving look as she slipped around the various monks, nuns and knights. </p><p><em> “I never thought you a pious one,” </em>the strange voice quipped. </p><p>Byleth had almost jumped out of her skin, pausing only to place a hand over her chest—where of course, her heart remained still despite her laboured breathing.</p><p>
  <em> “Honestly, child. How do you expect to continue if you insist on acting like a scalded cat when I speak?” </em>
</p><p>Frowning, Byleth briefly considered arguing with her own thoughts, but instead, settled for leaning against the stone railing. Taking a long, deep breath, she felt the tightly wound anxiety of the day loosen slightly. Things had happened at breakneck speed since the battle at Remire. There was the group of lords, of course, but more troubling was this...change. </p><p>Throughout her life, the world had seemed relatively simple. She saw problems, some that could be fixed, and some not—the difference had never mattered to her in the way it affected others. Whether they buried a comrade or left one behind with a few less limbs, she’d been able to internalise it all without issue. That wasn’t to say that she felt completely ambivalent towards people, but there was a distance, a strange clarity that extended beyond words within her. It was the way she knew what things were sad, what things were happy—but only as though briefly hearing the echo of their presence. This very tendency had immortalised itself in legend, in an epithet that followed her around like a miasma.</p><p>But now?</p><p>The world felt different. It felt closer somehow, more overwhelming and confusing. When that bandit leader—Kostas, as she later learned—sought to attack a mostly defenseless Edelgard, instead of her usual cold detachment…</p><p>Byleth, for the first time, had gotten <em> angry</em>. </p><p>She knew what it was, she’d seen it in enough people to identify it, to know what made others angry and what should make herself angry. The rush of adrenaline, the pulse hissing in her ears—that sense of needing to hurt this man for no other reason than <em> she wanted to</em>, those were things she had little preparation for. Similarly, amongst the three lords and the knights, Byleth found herself overwhelmed. They had plied her with questions, with praise and had tried to get her to like them. Ordinarily, she could spot these things and keep her sense of calm detachment as she made the most logical decision—yet she did not know what was the right answer now. </p><p>Her father had noticed the difference in her, seemingly torn between being perplexed and uncharacteristically overprotective. Lady Rhea was apparently on the top of his danger list, and after meeting her, Byleth could understand it somewhat. Rhea was grand, imposing and almost frightening, in a way. Not frightening in the sense that she seemed physically dangerous, no—Rhea seemed terrifying because she had those probing eyes and a serene, knowing smile. It was as though she knew the fresh inner turmoil that had been unleashed within Byleth’s head, and was almost pleased to be able to witness it.</p><p>The voice tutted. <em> “A very unsettling thought, I must say.” </em></p><p>This presence, <em> Sothis </em>, was right. Rhea made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Seteth, meanwhile, seemed to have that exact same feeling, but towards Byleth instead. He looked singularly put out by her presence, and was almost apoplectic when the archbishop decided that Byleth would join the monastery. </p><p>
  <em> “That does remind me, you have a decision to make. Which of your three young friends will you choose? Of course she said the choice is for the house, but we both know you are choosing amongst these future sovereigns,” </em>
</p><p>Byleth sighed. The answer would need to come soon. There was Edelgard, who was kind in her own way, yet was constantly measuring and intense. The Imperial princess seemed to think rather highly of her, though, this came with the heavy implication that there were many expectations and responsibilities that followed. </p><p>
  <em> “Astute. Though, these are all royals in one way or another. They will all be seeking to use you for their own ends. Perhaps it is good that she is the most honest about it.” </em>
</p><p>Secondly, there was Claude. Childish, informal and generally very relaxed, he reminded her more of the men and women in their mercenary company than of the people who had money to hire them. Yet—it wasn’t the whole picture. He smiled, laughed and joked, but the emotions never quite reached his eyes. Instead, they remained focused and calculating.</p><p>
  <em> “Indeed, he seems to be one with quite an agenda. I wonder if he’d share it with you if you chose him? Do you believe he would, or would he manipulate you instead?” </em>
</p><p>Then finally, Dimitri. </p><p>
  <em> “You say his name with such a sigh!” </em>
</p><p>Byleth rubbed her weary eyes. The crown prince of Faerghus gave her a similar feeling to both of the other lords—he both seemed to respect her, yet he also seemed to be hiding quite a lot. Still, there was a sense of earnestness about him that she found soothing. There was no doubt that he partially viewed her as some prize to be added to his ranks, but there were times where she realised that he was being nice...because he wanted her to feel comfortable. When the childish games among the three had waned, he remained carefully distant, yet accommodating, allowing her to choose how engaged she was going to be with him. He was the only one who had given her that courtesy. </p><p><em> “Then why did you sound so utterly put out when you thought about him? Hm?” </em>Sothis prodded.</p><p>Perhaps it was because she felt a little more warmly towards him. It felt dangerous, like the beginning slide of a very painful fall downhill—she wasn’t sure what to make of this sensation. It wasn’t like her distant logic, it was tangled and messy—it relied on contradictions and ever-changing reasons to justify itself. She’d only truly discovered this when she tried to figure out <em> why </em> she deemed him above the others, and came out with the answer that she just <em> did </em>.</p><p><em> “It is perfectly fair to be swayed by a princely smile and gentlemanly manners,” </em> Sothis said with a grin. <em> “Not everything can be weighed solely on cold merit.” </em></p><p>And it was true—but since when was Byleth clearly <em> unable </em> to detach herself—?</p><p>The sound of footsteps ripped her from battling with her thoughts, and she looked around to see the crown prince himself. The early evening sun shone right into his face, lighting his hair like spun gold, and making his eyes seem almost jewel-like. He stopped a few strides short of her position and gave a rather shamefaced smile.</p><p>“I would pretend that I haven’t been scowering the monastery for you, but I feel it would be a tad insulting.”</p><p>Sothis’ laugh chimed like a series of bells through her head. <em>"</em> <em> Ah, he has come to plead his case. How sweet.” </em></p><p>“It’s understandable,” she replied, soundly ignoring the giggling entity floating around her thoughts. “What have you come to say?”</p><p>“Well, that the Blue Lions is a wonderful house and that you will undoubtedly meet the most chivalrous and talented students in there,” he said, approaching the railing to lean onto the wide stone with his elbows. He stared down into the valley for a moment before turning to her again. “While that’s all true, I feel that it is more accurate to say that the Blue Lions can make you happier than the other houses.”</p><p>That surprised her—Byleth blinked at him in silence, knocking the words in place for a coherent answer. “Happy? In what way?”</p><p>“I suppose this is because I know many of the students quite well, but there are some truly kind souls there. I’m sure the other two houses could say the same, but from my very biased perspective, you’d fit in well with us. The nobles won’t turn their noses up at you, for one,”</p><p>Byleth found herself smiling slightly—the sensation felt strange, but it happened before she could help it. “Did you speak to that one from the Golden Deer? The very flashily dressed man.”</p><p>“I did indeed,” Dimitri laughed. “No doubt, we have our own...interesting personalities, but they fall quite short of Lorenz or Hubert.”</p><p>“And what would my presence bring you then?” Byleth asked. “Since we are being honest.”</p><p>Here, his eyes slid right back to the valley and he seemed a little more uncertain of himself. Was it embarrassment, or was it duplicity? </p><p>“You are quite skilled, so we could all learn quite a bit from you,” he said. “And, I have made up my mind to convince you to join my service in the kingdom once all is said and done.”</p><p>“Am I such a unique acquisition?”</p><p>“Well, one called the Ashen Demon should not be too modest,” he smiled, giving her a more impish sidelong glance. “Or else people will think you are conceited. I have seen you comport yourself in battle—and I have heard the stories about you; I think you may be exactly what the kingdom needs when I take the throne.”</p><p>The wind began to pick up, sending goosebumps rippling across her skin. Byleth tucked her hair back, and looked down at her hands. “I was called the Ashen Demon because of how emotionlessly I kill. What kind of kingdom needs that?”</p><p>“One with a future king like me,” Dimitri said simply. “I wanted to wait before piling such a heavy condition upon you, but given that my main intention is to have you come to Faerghus, I suppose I may as well say it now. I admire loyalty in my knights, however, I do not want that loyalty to become blind. That is why I want people around me who can separate themselves from sentiment if necessary. I need people to counterbalance the yes-men that plague being king.”</p><p>“It sounds like you want an advisor, not a warrior,” she told him. “I may not be qualified for that.”</p><p>“Let the year pass, and then we will see. But, for now, turn this question over in your head: would you consider joining the kingdom to act as such a counterbalance? Even if you were going up against me as King, would you be able to be the Ashen Demon and do what needed to be done?”</p><p><em> “This is a strange, strange boy.” </em> Sothis hummed. <em> “It is almost as though he is asking you to be an insurance policy against becoming a despot.” </em></p><p>Byleth met his gaze, and felt her anxiety ebb for the first time in the day. He was asking her a clear question—one predicated on her abilities.</p><p>“I will think about it.”</p><p>“Thank you, that is all I can ask,” he bowed slightly to her. “I will leave you to it then. We only have a short while before Lady Rhea informs us of our professors.”</p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Dimitri had a roiling mixture of uncertainty and triumph in his gut as he walked to the audience chamber. Edelgard was already waiting, looking only a little impatient around the edges. As much as she might have tried to hide it—the excitement of knowing who would teach them, and where their new arrival would place herself was too much to pass up. Dimitri tried to feel assured that he’d done his best, but his own reservations had other plans.</p><p>And so did <em> they </em>.</p><p><em> “What, you want her to put you down when you finally throw off that sheep’s skin?” </em> his father asked mockingly. <em> “You told her you were being honest, but little does she know you’re just a beast pretending to be a man.” </em></p><p><em> “Truly, what sort of monster would do that?” </em>his step-mother asked, her voice dripping with disappointment. </p><p>He could not argue. Byleth could be very useful as just another warrior in his service—but that part of him that agreed with the voices, and with Felix, knew that he needed someone pragmatic. Felix, for all his bluster, might never be able to do the job if the situation came down to it. Even so, regardless of his friend’s ire towards him, Dimitri could not fathom putting Felix in such a position. He was the future Shield of Faerghus, and to force him to consider regicide would be especially cruel. In his mind’s eye, he considered this worst-case scenario to play out quickly and brutally. Along the way, perhaps after he avenged the murders of those dear to him, his transformation would become truly irreversible. He’d always hoped that someone would dispatch him on that very battlefield, leaving no room for debate or for sentiment. When he saw <em> her </em> in action, for the first time he could envision the person holding the weapon that put him down.</p><p>Claude arrived in the nick of time, earning himself only a slightly narrowed eye from Lady Rhea before she began speaking.</p><p>“Thank you for attending this announcement, house leaders,” she smiled graciously. “I suppose I should cut to the chase and give you the information that you are no doubt eager for.”</p><p>The three lords stood upright, with as much regal bearing as possible. </p><p>“As you know, Jeralt Eisner’s daughter will be joining your ranks this year, and I have allowed her to choose her own placement—of course, if any of you have reservations, this will be taken into account,” her voice carried a hint of amusement—she could plainly tell that no one would complain if they were chosen. “Byleth is a gifted warrior, and though she is a mercenary I believe she will benefit from an education here—she has much to teach all of you. Even the other houses should endeavour to learn from her.”</p><p>Dimitri groaned inwardly. Was she purposefully dragging it out?</p><p>“Please do not take her decision as a slight. She has obviously thought long and hard about this, as she only informed me of her decision with mere moments to spare.”</p><p>Dimitri discerned the slight tightening of Edelgard’s expression; Claude, meanwhile, remained the picture of his usual, casual composure. </p><p>“The house she will join is the Blue Lions. Dimitri, is this amenable to you?”</p><p>She’d chosen it. </p><p><em> “Perhaps she is eager to execute her duties,” </em> Glenn remarked acidly. <em> “Because she can see that there is no saving you.” </em></p><p>“I would be happy to welcome her to the Blue Lions,” Dimitri said diplomatically. He wouldn’t gloat—it would twist the knife in just a tad too much for the others. </p><p>“Wonderful. Now, on to your assigned teachers. We have a new addition here as well, as you are all aware of our...unfortunate mishap with the intended third professor,” Rhea’s voice took on a note of cold annoyance. Dimitri was sure that the man would have thrown himself off the monastery before facing down the archbishop. “The Black Eagles will be taught by Professor Manuela. The Golden Deer will be taught by Professor Hanneman. This of course, leaves the Blue Lions, who will be taught by Professor Jeritza.”</p><p>Dimitri blinked. This would be an interesting year indeed—Jeritza was skilled and deadly in his own right, but he was generally unpersonable and standoffish. Still, this would please the likes of Felix and the others who preferred weapons to magic. </p><p>The three lords left the chamber, and Dimitri glanced towards Edelgard. She was walking a bit stiffly, her face carefully blank.</p><p>“It’s okay to be disappointed, you know,” he said quietly.</p><p>“You won her over, what else is there to say?” Edelgard replied. </p><p>He watched her haughty stride disappear around the corner towards her classroom, where the students would be crowded and waiting for the announcement. Dimitri sighed. At each step of the way, he seemed to annoy her further. It was one thing during banter, but in more serious moments, he felt the sting of her sharpness properly.</p><p><em> “And why would my daughter deign to feel otherwise?” </em> Patricia asked. <em> “You are no family of hers. You are simply a walking corpse </em> — <em> a revenant and a mistake." </em></p><p>He shook his head. In the darkness, just out of the light of the wall sconces, he saw a small figure leaning against the far wall. From the posture, he knew who it was at once, though how quickly he had become attuned to this surprised him. Under his gaze, Byleth approached slowly, swathed in her cloak against the night air. </p><p>“Thank you for choosing us,” he told her with a small bow. “We are assigned Professor Jeritza, but I’m sure that doesn’t tell you much.” He gestured beside him as he turned to continue his way to the Blue Lions classroom. “Come, I will introduce you to everyone.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A few things:</p><p>- Yes, I made Jeritza their professor because I am the worst.<br/>- Hilda turned out like such a shitheel and I love her.<br/>- The Felix and Dimitri interaction was inspired by their C support, so imagine this conversation has already happened.<br/>- Dimitri chasing after Byleth because he thinks her Ashen Demon reputation means she could kill him if she has to: a level of angst so keen that I am upset with myself for writing it.<br/>- Byleth not understanding that she might have a mild crush already and handwaving it away lololoo<br/>- Edelgard and Dimitri need family counselling.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Delphinium elatum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jeritza scares a bunch of students, while Felix is stoked to have a stabby new professor and a stabby new classmate.</p><p>Sothis is judgemental, Byleth discovers that having emotions is rather difficult, and Dimitri begins his path down a long, painful road called “infatuation”.</p><p>And, well, Mercedes has a hard time.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey everyone, thank you so much for the wonderful feedback. I love that so many of you are attached to Student!Byleth AUs too! I had no idea what I was missing until I stumbled across this trope and I JUST HAD TO.</p><p>This chapter is a bit of an in-between one, building a bit of a slow foundation for our characters and the beginning of their time at the academy. Thus, it is a bit more introspective. I also had a bit of fun with writing Dedue and his cautiousness around the others, as well as Felix being very Felix. As for Jeritza, I've revisited his supports and the like, and I'm aiming for a balance of "Jeritza" as weird and creepy as he is, with hints of the Death Knight who seeps in. As mentioned by a squire in the monastery, the guy is strange, but he was a good teacher--and actually sort of encouraging.</p><p>I have also made a <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4WPXFQSVoY1IiI7ppoxsVn?si=226dcb2be5d84f68">Spotify playlist</a> because I need to write to music. It's full of metal though, so your mileage may vary haha<br/>---</p><p>  <b>tw : mild suicidal ideation</b></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first morning of lectures was met with much noise among the students. They milled around the dining hall, chattering across houses about their new professors, and of course, the Blue Lions’ new classmate. Dimitri was even able to enjoy his breakfast—though this was due to being too distracted to truly focus on the task. He had risen early, as was his custom, and found Byleth wandering aimlessly on his way to give the classroom a final once-over. He’d beckoned her over, and she remained as a mostly silent observer as he tended to the last minute duties to ensure a smooth first day. That singularly ethereal gaze of hers followed his movements instead of gazing day-dreamily into the distance. All at once again, she seemed both difficult to read, yet quite familiar. He felt quite unsure about how to approach her now that he’d wrought his first victory. It was obvious that his prior strategy had worked—after all, she had chosen his house, her reasons were rather opaque. It wasn’t as though she seemed totally <em> apathetic</em>, during their conversation the previous day, but he could not find a better way to term it.</p><p>When he thought about it further, his point of reference seemed like a ridiculous and borderline childish juxtaposition—but there was no other way to make sense of her. At fleeting moments she carried the ghost of emotion, yet she appeared mostly serious with a keen, probing gaze. It was as though Byleth Eisner was some sort of fey-like visitor to their world, just human enough to pass muster, but with a distinctly changeling aura. </p><p>Perhaps he was reading too many novels.</p><p>His classmates had taken her up as an object of fascination and would all bear the delayed fatigue of a late night; after learning of Lady Rhea’s announcement, the class had descended upon the mercenary. The poor thing, while stalwart in battle, had looked quite bewildered by the attention. It was reminiscent of their journey back to the monastery, and as such, Dimitri was able to spot it immediately. With Mercedes, Ingrid and the others he was able to smoothly interject, rescuing her from a barrage of enthusiastic questioning—but with the likes of <em> Sylvain</em>, a less diplomatic method was necessary. The Gautier heir had learned what that subtle quirk of Dimitri’s eyebrow meant—and when coupled with a slightly sarcastic change in his voice, it signalled trouble. Discerning that an ear-blistering lecture could be afoot—possibly coupled with a bit of painful sparring, Sylvain plastered on his best winning smile and politely excused himself. Byleth found more solid ground to tread with Felix, who had wasted no time in asking about her sword skills. Unsurprisingly, their personalities suited each other well; Felix was direct and brusque, while Byleth batted nary an eye at his fixation or his lack of warmth.</p><p>Now, he sat across from her through their meal, explaining monastery life—with enthusiastic interjections by Annette or Mercedes. Surrounded by all the noise and bluster, he could detect a change in her manner. Was it anxiety? She seemed more cautious, not necessarily tentative, but with the air of a wildcat slowly making its way into an unfamiliar place. Jeralt had come and gone, casting a measuring gaze at their table, almost perplexed—before he seemed to force himself to leave things be. It was reasonable, Dimitri thought; Byleth had been accustomed to a very different life. A semi-solitary mercenary’s existence was a far cry from the almost juvenile conviviality of the Officers’ Academy. He toned down his encouraging smile today—he hadn’t forgotten how confused she’d been when confronted with it before.</p><p><em> “Because she knows you’re fake. That kind, human face is a farce,” </em>his father said coldly.</p><p>A pang settled in his chest and he grimaced. Byleth paused alongside him as he stopped walking.</p><p>“Is something the matter?” she asked. The others were causing quite a ruckus ahead, their boisterousness drawing mildly exasperated looks from the monastery staff.</p><p>“It’s nothing,” Dimitri said reassuringly. “Just an unpleasant, intrusive thought.”</p><p>Surprisingly, her lips quirked slightly at the edges. “I have had those recently myself. They come up at the worst times.” </p><p><em> “Maybe she’s just as insane as you are,” </em>   Glenn said snidely. <em> “Is that why you’ve become so interested in her?” </em></p><p>Patricia scoffed. <em> “How fitting.” </em></p><p>Byleth stood rather aimlessly in the classroom. In the academy uniform, she cast a very different figure; she was already quite small—the only Lion shorter than her was Annette, and the lack of armour served to highlight this. Where her hand would drift casually towards her sword handle, instead she clutched a new book, which seemed to impart a far inferior sense of security. Dimitri nudged her with his elbow, bringing her out of her anxious reverie; those large eyes turned to him, and he felt a strange drop in his stomach.</p><p>“Come, sit with me. As house leader I can give you any help you may need,” he said gently. </p><p>The stiffness in her manner relaxed slightly, and she followed him wordlessly to the front of the class. It seemed as though her presence was a sufficient lure for Felix—who was able to look past his distaste for the prince to sit on her other side. </p><p>“The first day is always a bit of a disaster,” Dimitri told her, leaning in to be heard over the excited din around them. “Today we can expect that the professor will outline his expectations and our first assignment this month.”</p><p>“What sort of assignments are they?”</p><p>“Usually war games or errands with the knights,” Felix interjected. “Some of them may see us in combat, which I’m looking forward to now that we have an actual warrior among us.”</p><p>“Yes, it is customary for the monastery to send students into battle—nothing too taxing, but it is meant to get us used to…” he searched for a diplomatic way to say it, but Felix rolled his eyes.</p><p>“Killing. They want us to learn what it’s like to kill,” Felix said flatly. “Odd thing for <em> you </em> to be leery about.”</p><p>“Talking about it like this is a bit more difficult than doing it,” Dimitri admitted. “Though for most people I imagine it is the opposite.”</p><p>“It isn’t for me,” Byleth said. </p><p>He smiled at her—a genuine, relieved smile. “I will allow myself to be relieved by that, if only for a moment.”</p><p>Silence fell upon the room like a cold blade—Dimitri heard the footfalls behind him, and even before he’d turned around, he registered them to be Jeritza’s. Everything about him was a bit forbidding, from his cold eyes to his stiff, predatory gait. His very presence was sufficient to throw cold water on the students’ mirth, with eyes fixed upon him in varying levels of apprehension or outright fear. Dimitri did not share in the common sentiment—others would put it down to his position, after all, who could frighten a prince? Yet, the true answer was that Jeritza was easy to get a measure of. </p><p>“I am Jeritza von Hrym,” he began. His voice was slow—deliberate as though effort had gone into enunciating each syllable. It was one of the more singular idiosyncrasies he held, alongside his strange half-mask and his propensity to casually terrify most around him. “Though I am your professor, my specialities lie in more martial skills—fencing, riding and similar fields. I have been made aware,” his gaze scanned the room, and Dimitri felt his fellow classmates shift uncomfortably, “That several of you are magic users. Two of our five days in the week will be spent in seminars, ergo you will be expected to find your teacher of choice for the further development of magic.”</p><p>Someone had raised a hand, and a low murmur of whispers ran through their ranks. Dimitri turned to see Mercedes, whose face was perplexed and deep in thought. </p><p>Jeritza looked at her silently for a moment, and this single word carried a sense of clipped exasperation in its cadence. “Yes?”</p><p>“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said in her soft, good-natured way. “I was just interested in how this would work. We have the choice to specialise in our chosen skills two days per week then? I am unsure about how this may work with those of us who have more diverse interests. I would hate to miss out on something.”</p><p>He turned his back to her as he answered, walking further towards the blackboard, hands clasped behind him. “You will receive guidance on which sessions you should attend based upon your goals. As professors we will attempt to ensure everyone can attend the seminar that they require,” he said. “Is that a sufficient answer?”</p><p>“Yes, professor,” Mercedes answered. From her expression—the tightness around her mouth, something seemed to be bothering her. Strange, considering her almost unshakably sunny disposition, Dimitri reasoned. </p><p>“If those are all your questions,” Jeritza looked out to the sea of faces again. “We will begin individually.”</p><p>There was a collective intake of breath among the classmates; next to him, Byleth idly toyed with the clasp of her swordbelt, and Dimitri found himself distracted, and mildly amused.</p><p>---</p><p>Byleth sat across from the new professor. Her new life at the academy had been marked with a deep feeling of unseatedness—though she remained unshaken by the steady, piercing gaze of the man in front of her. </p><p>“So, you are the mercenary,” he said quietly. His slow, deep voice drawled across the background murmuring as the rest of the class discussed their future goals and the feedback they were given. From the outset, most seemed frightened of Jeritza, though, after speaking with him, the students all walked away perplexed but otherwise unscathed.</p><p>“I am,” she answered. “I specialise in one-handed swords and bucklers, however, I began with two-handed swords.”</p><p>The calculating look did not falter. “You are rather too small to be a front-line combatant. I can only imagine that you are quick enough to compensate.”</p><p><em> “Why is he looking at you in such a manner?” </em> Sothis sounded mildly horrified. <em> “He seems as though he is a ravenous beast looking at a little rabbit.” </em></p><p>She was right, though, perhaps a more accurate way of phrasing it was a predator who was studying its next challenge—measuring and anticipatory.</p><p><em> “Indeed,</em>” she agreed. <em> “Though how you are unbothered by this is beyond me. Growing up around mercenaries has truly made you a bizarre woman.” </em></p><p>Byleth could not disagree; after all, when faced with the <em> others</em>, she was far more out of her depth.</p><p>“I haven’t been injured often,” Byleth told him. “So, I suppose this must be true.”</p><p>“We shall see if it is,” he said. “I have only sparred once with your father. However that is only because he has been kept quite busy since his return,” the last was spoken with a sense of petulance, and Byleth found her lips quirking up at the corners.</p><p>“Yes, I’ve also found only a few moments with him,” she said. “The Knights are monopolising his time quite well.”</p><p>Jeritza let out a scoff of discontent. </p><p>“Should I continue with my current goals?” Byleth asked. “I have no additions outside of what I’ve told you.”</p><p>“No dabbling in magic?” Jeritza asked, almost mockingly. It seemed that he had been fielding concerns from the more arcane-inclined students for the day, and was not at all amused by it.</p><p>“It has never really been a priority,”</p><p>“Then I will reconvene with you after I test your arm later,” he said. He seemed almost pleased by her answer, or at least, as pleased as he could appear with that dour expression and flat tone. He rose from the seat, raising his voice to address the rest of the class. Their chattering fell silent at the scrape of his chair—and thus his words carried with ease. “We will end the day at the training grounds.”</p><p><em> “He seems excited,” </em> Sothis shivered with disgust. <em> “Why on earth are you not put off by this?” </em></p><p>Byleth shrugged inwardly as she gathered her things, still unsure of <em> what </em> should unsettle her about their professor. He was a strange man—awkward and generally unlike most others at the academy, but she could not find the same fear as her classmates. She felt <em> something </em>—perhaps more akin to one’s martial wariness in a fight, though it was a far cry from the apprehensiveness she noticed on the others. When she looked at him, she was sizing him up too—weighing the reach of his sword arm, the power of his strike and how quickly he could react. It wasn’t a far cry from what he must be thinking.</p><p><em> “My dear, I think his feelings on the matter are far more mirthful than your clinical judgements,” </em> Sothis replied with exasperation. <em> “You truly are an Ashen Demon.” </em></p><p>For the first time, Byleth felt herself bristle—like hackles raising at the thought. She paused as the grip on her book tightened.</p><p><em> “That bothers you, it seems,” </em> Sothis observed. <em> “There may be hope for you yet. I will apologise if my statement is proven wrong in time.” </em></p><p>Ignoring the stubborn voice in her head, Byleth filed out from the classroom last. Dimitri was at the doorway, with his eagle-eyed retainer Dedue not far afield. Dedue’s stare was calculating as well, though it was more anxious than someone like Jeritza’s. He appeared to be truly protective of the prince, though it seemed to be of a more emotional sense rather than a position purely of duty. She’d seen this before, and it reminded her of Jeralt in some ways—in fact, she’d likely first noticed this look on her father’s face.</p><p>“How has it gone on your first day?” Dimitri asked idly. </p><p>“I’m still not used to this,” she said. “Being in one place for so long, sitting down and simply speaking of my goals as though they were not tied to necessity but rather <em> interest </em>…”</p><p>The prince looked surprised, though he quickly stymied the expression with one of mild embarrassment. “Of course. I fear I have been rather spoiled, I had not considered how strange this adjustment must have been from that perspective. I anticipated that you would not be used to life at the monastery—but to put it plainly I was thinking in a more naive way regarding making friends among the class and such.”</p><p>“I don’t know how to do that either,” Byleth said. Something about her plain, matter-of-fact tone made her companion stifle a laugh.</p><p>“I apologise,” he said with a polite, half-bow. “The earnestness of that statement was rather endearing.”</p><p><em> “He means that you are rather adorable, as little and lost as you are,” </em> Sothis chimed. <em> “It seems he finds more amusement than exasperation in your state—which I find quite envious,” </em>she lamented.</p><p>Byleth stopped walking for a moment. Dimitri followed suit almost at once, his expression shifting to concern. She looked up into those impossibly <em> blue </em> eyes with a knot in her stomach that was both mysterious in origin and nagging in how it shifted and tightened. </p><p>“I really don’t know how,” she said. She felt her brows contract, her lips press together and her fists clench. What was this? Why was it so insistent and so hard to ignore?</p><p>“There is nothing wrong with that,” Dimitri told her gently. “Like monastery life, I imagine that you will learn this in time.”</p><p>“Is that something you can learn?” she asked, the earnestness in her own voice taking her aback. Why did it feel as though she was alien from her own body? As though she was merely an observer, feeling the confusing ghost of sensations of the person she happened to inhabit. </p><p>It was upsetting.</p><p>She was <em>upset.</em></p><p><em> “Dear me.” </em> Sothis sighed. <em> “There is much work to be done.” </em></p><p>“I believe people can learn many things,” Dimitri said—his smile was encouraging again, though far more subdued and natural than it had been before. Byleth felt the knot loosen. She believed him. </p><p>---</p><p>Two figures danced in a tense circle, swords clashing as the Blue Lions looked on in mingled awe and apprehension. Byleth was faring well, skirt swishing as her arm arced and her body shifted with dexterous ease—Dimitri found himself entranced again, just as he was on that murky day outside of the village. This time, he was able to focus only on the spectacle before him—there were no bandits to monopolise his attention and he could take in the pure <em> art </em> of her skillfulness. She shelved the trepidation she showed earlier as soon as the sword was in her hand, becoming the embodiment of poise and surety again. Across the way, Felix was similarly engaged, a slight smile playing on his face as his feline eyes darted from Byleth to Jeritza. There were a few others who were more engrossed in the fight than nervous—though most of the Lions were eyeing the cold steel of the blades before anything else. The air had almost gone out of the training grounds when Jeritza had eschewed the training swords in lieu of <em> real </em>ones, and the atmosphere remained tense. </p><p>As for their professor, Jeritza was undoubtedly a man of deadly talent. He was quick for a man of his size, and strong—evidenced by the few times that Byleth was unable to parry him and took one of his strikes dead on. To her credit, she’d recovered quickly, relying mostly on a series of hanging parries and swift counters to keep him from gaining steady ground to follow through on his attacks. By the time Jeritza had let up, the two had been engaged for almost a half hour—both were breathing heavily, though while Byleth’s gaze was calm and focused, Jeritza’s was...almost enthralled. Dimitri found that the look prickled at his nerves; he lagged behind as the others converged around Byleth, continuing to gauge the danger of such an expression. The very feel of it was igniting a sense of paranoid guardedness within him, which in turn elicited an amused scoff from his long-dead sparring partner. </p><p><em> “Do you recognise that bloodlust, Dimitri?” </em> Glenn asked. <em> “Why else would you disapprove so heartily?” </em></p><p>He <em> did </em> recognise that look. The enjoyment—not of the sport, but of the closeness to death. It was a thrill that came from the anticipation of pain—both in inflicting and avoiding it. Sadism, coupled with that keen, satisfying instinct to survive through any means necessary. When he approached the group, Dimitri saw none of it in her, but instead the same, cool neutrality lurking in her eyes.</p><p><em> “Have you not considered that she can protect herself?” </em> Patricia asked scornfully. <em> “After all, did she not protect you, rather than the other way around?” </em></p><p>Dimitri fought against the notion—he wasn’t being like <em> that </em>, he reasoned. He simply noticed the mere possibility of danger and measured it, after all.</p><p><em> “Danger? In an academy sparring match? What are you worried about, her bruised pride?” </em> Glenn laughed. </p><p>Truly, he knew that Jeritza would have stopped short of seriously harming her—after all, he was given guardianship over them. Despite relishing the added danger of using proper weapons, the man had not continued their match to a bloody conclusion. In fact, he had called it off himself, well before either of them had been worn down enough to be open to injury.</p><p>“That was amazing,” Annette was clutching hands to her chest as though winded. “I was so scared the whole time but it was just…”</p><p>“You’ve <em> got </em> to spar with me some time,” Sylvain interjected with a grin. “Teach me some of those moves.”</p><p>Felix’s voice was curt. “Don’t waste her time when all you want to do is flirt. I think I’ve seen enough to give you a run for your money, if you’re interested.”</p><p>“Isn’t that a little unfair?” Mercedes asked. Her gaze was still lingering on Jeritza, who was now speaking with one of the monks who had come to him with a roll of parchment. “She’ll be at a disadvantage if you’ve seen her fight and she hasn’t seen you.”</p><p>“A true warrior can win an unfair fight.”</p><p>Ingrid frowned. “That’s not very honourable.”</p><p>“Neither is the real world, Ingrid,” Felix said acidly. </p><p>“I wonder what message Professor Jeritza just got,” Ashe tiptoed to get a better look at the man’s inscrutable, half-hidden face. </p><p>Dimitri continued to study Byleth intently, searching for signs of the anxiety from before. “It might be our assignment for the month.” </p><p>It was becoming a comical routine. From the moment that the class heard their professor’s voice, the talking ceased at once. Dimitri stood beside Byleth as she wiped the sword down and carefully resheathed it among the other weapons.</p><p>“At the end of this month, we will partake in the first mock battle among the houses,” he said. The students began to shift and fidget with excitement, and a daring whisper or two broke through the silence before falling away. “I will select the best among you to represent the house. I trust that you will not be a disappointment, and that those who are not selected will accept the decision with...grace,” the last word carried a hint of warning, and Dimitri could almost <em> hear </em> the sharp intakes of breath among his peers. </p><p>Felix raised his hand, and spoke up after receiving a curt nod. “Will the professors be taking part?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>A smirk spread across his face. “Well this’ll be interesting.”</p><p>“That is all for today. You are dismissed, though I suggest you use the time wisely to prepare.” His eyes slid next to Dimitri. “Byleth Eisner. I will speak with you again now.”</p><p>---</p><p>“They’ve been talking for a while,” Sylvain observed, completely ignoring the way that his suspended quill dripped and ruined his parchment. </p><p>Dimitri hazarded a glance in their direction. Byleth was still sitting on one of the benches with their professor—unsurprisingly, it was difficult to tell how the conversation was going by their expressions, or lack thereof. “I imagine she requires special attention to become acclimated to the academy.”</p><p>Annette made a small sound in her throat, pulling Sylvain’s arm as the steady ink trail began seeping near to her book. The three, plus Dedue, were settled in one of the outdoor gazebos, enjoying the soft breeze as they had intended to brush up on strategy and tactics before the next week’s class. Felix had curtly denied their request to join them, preferring to remain at the training grounds, while Ingrid and Ashe had fled to the dining hall. </p><p>“I wonder where Mercie is,” Annette sighed. “She just sort of vanished after we were dismissed. I felt like something was bothering her today. Maybe she wasn’t feeling well?”</p><p>Dimitri frowned. So he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed it—what could be bothering her that much? Mercedes’ charm and good humour was nigh unbreakable, withstanding even the likes of Felix on a bad day. </p><p>“I will stop by her room when we are finished,” Dedue said quietly. “I have several medicinal herbs that I brought from the Kingdom. Perhaps they may be of use.”</p><p>“Sylvain could you pay attention to what you’re doing?” Annette groaned. “You’ve dipped into His Highness’ ink and now you’re wasting it all.”</p><p>Dimitri shifted his attention to the table, where a blot of deep blue was slowly spreading across his page. Sylvain had the self-awareness to murmur an apology.</p><p>“Just...let me know if that blonde girl who keeps glancing at us starts coming over, okay?” he smiled—eyes crinkling charmingly at the edges. Annette was unenthused.</p><p>“What did you do?”</p><p>“I didn’t do anything,” he said, clapping an affected hand to his chest. </p><p>Dimitri quirked an eyebrow at him, and Sylvain paled. “I doubt that, Sylvain.”</p><p>“Okay, okay, maybe I took her out for dinner this week and haven’t found the time to follow up,” Sylvain said swiftly. “But it’s been so hectic with the run-in you had with the bandits, the preparation for classes…”</p><p>“You hurt her feelings,” Annette said pointedly. “You apologised for spilling His Highness’ ink but not for that?”</p><p>“Look I—oh Goddess, she got up,” Sylvain scooped his things together, ignoring the wet ink as he rose from his seat. “I’ll catch up later.”</p><p>Dimitri watched him flee with a sense of amused annoyance. One of these days, he’d cross the wrong woman—and the prince was entirely unsure whether he looked forward to or dreaded this. </p><p>“Honestly,” Annette shook her head. “I’m too distracted to study now. Sorry Your Highness, sorry Dedue,” she rose and curtsied. “I’ll go see if I can find Mercie.”</p><p>“I am still unused to being included in these things,” Dedue said absently. He was still looking at Annette’s retreating frame. “She is the only noble who deigns to address me so casually.”</p><p>Dimitri gave a long sigh. It was true, Mercedes, Ashe and Annette had managed to take to his retainer smoothly—while the others insisted on giving him a wide berth. In Ingrid’s case, however, he’d seen thinly veiled hostility in her stiff manner, but it had never come to the fore significantly enough for him to say something. Besides, as he watched Dedue quietly annotate his work, Dimitri imagined that the man would chafe at his intervention. Yet still, he could not let it stand. It grieved him—to see his oldest, dearest friends abhor someone who’d done nothing. In others, this sort of unfairness sparked his temper, but when faced with <em> them</em>, he was bereft with sadness. The Tragedy of Duscur and the following attack on their people had destroyed so many lives, not just his own. Dimitri had seen a little of himself in Dedue when all was said and done—someone who’d witnessed everyone they held dear be torn violently from this world. That was why it had felt doubly selfish to save him—in a way, Dimitri was trying to convince himself that he <em> wasn’t </em>a monster by doing the only thing he could: sparing a single life. On the other hand, it felt immeasurably self-serving to keep someone trapped in a life where all they could know was pain and regret. </p><p><em> “Then why are you still alive?” </em> Patricia asked him. <em> “If living is so very painful, why must you continue?” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Yes, and you have inflicted this pain upon someone else. Your ineptitude failed to stop the massacre, and you spared this man’s life. You created him. You're responsible for his pain. It is all your fault, Dimitri.” </em>
</p><p>And he knew this. Dimitri held those thoughts close to his heart, trusting them to ground him whenever the desire to become too comfortable arose.</p><p>“Perhaps you should find those herbs for Mercedes,” Dimitri suggested. “I think she will really appreciate it.”</p><p>“I just fear she may consider it an impertinence, after all—”</p><p>“You wanted to give them to her, did you not?” he asked. “No use in allowing second thoughts to stop you from helping a classmate.”</p><p>“You are right, Your Highness. Excuse me.”</p><p>Thus, the prince was left alone, idly staring at the drying ink on the table. The monastery staff would be annoyed by it—he would have to fetch a cloth and clean the mess up before he left. A sliver of movement in his periphery brought his gaze upwards again. Byleth had finished her long talk with Jeritza, and was wandering in his direction. A little tremor wove through his chest, and he felt momentarily childish. He had expected her to go off to her own devices, but it seemed that she liked his company. The thought felt rather like hubris, but he was unwilling to let it go. </p><p><em> “All you are is a port in a storm,” </em> Glenn said snidely. <em> “Once the waters calm she will be gone. You are a means to an end.” </em></p><p>Even so, he welcomed this. It could even be posited that he would relish such an outcome—the sting of it would be what he needed. </p><p><em> “Being a tortured glutton for punishment does nothing to avenge us,” </em> his father hissed. <em> “All it does is soothe your ego.” </em></p><p>Dimitri pushed the thoughts away, his chest aching. “That was a rather long conversation—not that we were sitting here attempting to eavesdrop, of course,” he said with a smile.</p><p>She sat down, and he felt that stab of electricity again. He was still concerned after the way she looked that morning, but he found it difficult to focus merely on <em> that </em>rather than being simply pleased at her presence. </p><p>“He asked me about my training and early life,” Byleth explained. “There were many questions about things I had tried or not tried in the battlefield. He seems quite invested in ensuring I improve.”</p><p>“You are already a head and shoulders above us,” Dimitri said.</p><p>“I think that was why he wants to challenge me,” she told him. He smiled wider—that earnestness was something else. There was no arrogance in her at all, but she had accepted her superiority without batting an eye or feigning humility. It made him realise that she probably <em> was </em> confused by his attention at the chapel—she hadn’t tried to play at ignorance or fish for praise at all. </p><p>“What did he come up with?” </p><p>Byleth traced some of the dried ink with her fingers, rubbing them together to look at the lightened blue stain. “Flying and lances. He believes I could become a Falcon Knight given enough diligence.”</p><p>“I could help you with lances,” he volunteered a bit too quickly and winced. She blinked at him in confusion as heat rushed to his face. “They are my speciality, I mean. Though I am more of a cavalry person than I am a flier.”</p><p>“Perhaps we can start tomorrow?” she asked him.</p><p>He was dumbfounded for a second—by her wide, strangely innocent eyes and the way that he’d automatically cleared his schedule without a second thought. “Of course.”</p><p>She looked down at her ink-stained fingers again. “This is pretty. I’ve only ever used black ink.”</p><p>“Ah—this is a bit of an indulgence,” he explained. “There is a special dye that is reserved for the royal family in Faerghus, so while there are other blue inks, this one remains quite special.”</p><p>“I always thought sumptuary laws were strange,” she said. “So this is ink that only you can use?”</p><p>“Customarily, but it’s on the table because of Sylvain,” Dimitri smiled. “The same plant is used as part of the dye for our regalia. It’s made from the delphinium flower.”</p><p>“It must be beautiful,” she mused.</p><p>“It’s poisonous,” he continued. “Very symbolic, in a manner of speaking. But alas, I wouldn’t want to get into such an unpleasant conversation on your first day. Do you like flowers?”</p><p>A crease appeared between her brows, her mouth was constricted in thought—the question seemed far deeper than simply a frivolous inquiry. “I think I do. That is to say, I’ve never really sat down and considered it, but I find them pleasant.”</p><p>“You should speak with my retainer, Dedue,” Dimitri said. Any further friends that he could give the alienated Duscur man would be a boon, and he imagined that Byleth’s gentle honesty would be appreciated. “He adores plants. I find it difficult to deal with, myself; I find it rather hard to keep them alive.”</p><p>It was also quite symbolic, but he bitterly crushed the notion.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here’s a little more on the symbolism of <span><a href="https://www.petalrepublic.com/delphinium-flower/">delphinium flowers</a> :)  </span></p><p> </p><p>  <span>Stay tuned for next time where we get: SPARRING~, the mock battle and a bit of Byleth struggling to make friends.</span></p><p> </p><p>  <span>Also, fishing time with dad. And Leonie.</span></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Under lapis banners</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Dimitri shows off his strength, Byleth eats a lot and beats Leonie. In other news, Dedue is a good dedude. </p><p>Also, this chapter is way longer than it was supposed to be.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Byleth hummed quietly as the line gave a tug; she pulled it with more strength than her size would imply, reeling with deft fingers to produce a shiny, flailing pike. </p><p>“That’s a good size,” Jeralt said, unhooking the creature. He delivered a practiced blow above the eyes, stunning its throes, before slitting it to be bled in the bucket. One of the first things he had taught her as a child was the way to dispatch a fish with as much kindness as possible. Of course, a kind death was rather an oxymoron in this case, but it seemed like a more humane way to treat with them, rather than pretending that they felt nothing. </p><p>“They’re biting quite often today,” she observed. Between them, they had managed to fill the bucket in short order. The moon was already in the sky, shining through the dyed pink and grey clouds of the late sunset. “Do you think this is enough?”</p><p>“For you? Barely,” he laughed. “Kid, I’ve seen you put away this many fish on a lazy day. I think we could stand to catch a few more, unless of course, you would leave <em> nothing </em> for your old man.”</p><p>“Yes, but for someone who likes to fish, you don’t really like eating fish,” Byleth pointed out. He gave her a lopsided smirk, eyes twinkling.</p><p>“You seem to have found a bit of sass since we arrived here. I like fish well enough. It’s nostalgic.”</p><p>“That doesn’t mean good,”</p><p>“Goddess above you’re relentless,” he laughed. “How was your first day? I’m sorry that I’ve been kept busy. Alois and the others have been hounding me for every little thing,” he shook his head. “I put my foot down today, seeing as it was your first.”</p><p>“It was...different,” Byleth reeled in another fish. “I am still unaccustomed to being this carefree, I suppose. The other students are all very enthusiastic.”</p><p>“Friendly, I imagine,” Jeralt observed. “I thought as much, seeing how they mobbed you at breakfast.”</p><p>“That part is the most difficult,” Byleth broke off, trying to sort out the feeling and place it into words. She was acutely aware that her reservations would worry her father, and she had to think carefully before giving voice to them. Still, he had earned her honesty. “I don’t know how to act around them. They are all so...<em> much </em>.”</p><p>“Even as a child you weren’t one for playing and chattering with others your age,” he sighed. “So it’s not surprising. Have you managed to make any friends?”</p><p>“I suppose,” she thought of the prince and felt a strange tug in her stomach—mistaking the spasm for some reaction to the line, she pulled it in to find it empty. “The crown prince has been very accommodating.”</p><p>“I’ll bet he was,” Jeralt grumbled. “The three of the lords were falling over themselves to win you. It is nice to know that he didn’t cast you aside once you’d chosen, I suppose.”</p><p>“He seems to be kind,” Byleth said. The comment left her lips almost compulsively.</p><p>“You know nobles,” he told her. “Some are nicer than others, yet all are at least a little self-interested. That motivation is how they stay noble.”</p><p>“Do you think it’s a farce, then?” The thought was a little painful.</p><p><em> “Have you found a want and need in that cold, still heart?” </em> Sothis clapped her hands together. <em> “At long last!” </em></p><p>Byleth ignored her. </p><p>“No, it isn’t that,” Jeralt shook his head. “I just want you to be aware that the people who come to this academy have done so for a reason. Whether it is a matter of duty for their future role, to become knights or the like...this isn’t the same thing as what you’re used to.”</p><p>“You’ve seen this before,”</p><p>“I have. It’s a different world here; as much as they try to prepare these little ones for the real world, most of them don’t even live in it. What I’m trying to say,” Jeralt rubbed his eyes—he looked tired now, older than she remembered. “Is that this is a good opportunity for you, but you should have your own goals. Just as your classmates have theirs. I don’t want you to be drifting around aimlessly, left all on your own when they graduate.”</p><p>Byleth nodded. “I understand. Our new professor has been quite interested in sparring with you.”</p><p>“Right, Jeritza. Weird man. I’m not sure why Rhea gave him a class, but he seems to be talented enough, despite his personality,”</p><p>“He reminds me more of some of the mercenaries we’ve met than a teacher or a knight.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jeralt agreed. “He looks like he’s more interested in the fight than the glory or the honour. That in and of itself is strange for someone who works here, though from what I’ve heard, Rhea has been keeping Knights of Seiros who don’t even believe in the teachings. Things have changed quite a bit.”</p><p>“How long have you known her?”</p><p>“Hard to say,” Jeralt said with a yawn. “When you get to be my age, you lose count. Alright, that seems like enough. I’ll take them into the dining hall, the cooks will have them ready tomorrow. I’ll catch your class some nice ones after the mock battle as a reward if you win. I hope you put on a good show for me out there.”</p><p>Byleth perked up, pausing from putting away the fishing rod. “You’re coming?”</p><p>“I am. I put my foot down about that too. Rhea seems very excited about it.”</p><p>“A mock battle itself seems like a strange idea,” she said. </p><p>“As I said, this is all a different life,” he told her. “Look out for a girl in the Golden Deer for me. She’s tallish, with reddish brown hair and a bad attitude,” he smiled wryly. “I met her a long time ago as a kid. Never thought she’d be here.”</p><p>“Who is she?”</p><p>“Her name is Leonie—never really got her family name. I spent time in her village once, she kept hanging around until I agreed to train her. Bit of a loudmouth, really hotheaded but she showed promise,” Jeralt smiled at his daughter. “Personality wise, she’s about the exact opposite of you. I saw her for only a moment when I came back, just long enough to know she hasn’t changed.”</p><p>“Was she happy to see you?”</p><p>“In a manner of speaking,” Jeralt laughed again; a quiet, low sound. “She seems thoroughly put out that I have a child, so I would expect that she’ll be looking for you.”</p><p>“Why would she be put out?” Byleth blinked in confusion. </p><p>“Well, you aren’t acquainted with the feeling of jealousy, so I don’t expect you’d understand it fully,” he said.</p><p>“I know what jealousy is,” Byleth said almost stubbornly.</p><p>“I know, I know,” he reached over and placed a hand on her shoulder—a ghost of the gesture he would use when he trained her years ago. “She wanted to come with us when I left the village. Poor kid was a mite of a thing, so I don’t think she even knew what she was asking. Don’t think she really even wanted to come along at all—she just wanted the company. She had a family, but no one that really understood her.”</p><p>“And she found someone who understood her in you,” Byleth surmised.</p><p>“Yeah,” he sighed. “Felt bad to leave her, but it wouldn’t have been a nice life.”</p><p>“I was a child living with mercenaries.”</p><p>Jeralt winced. “You were. But that whole mess is a conversation for another time.”</p><p>Byleth returned to her room later, a feeling of tension in her chest. She sat on the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the swirling non-matter that seemed to float in her periphery, collecting until it was fashioned into that impish little girl.</p><p><em> “Your father seemed to be a bit regretful about your upbringing,” </em> she pointed out. </p><p>“Was that it?” Byleth murmured. </p><p><em> “Indeed,” </em> she yawned. <em> “Perhaps he believed that a child like you—one who never chattered or laughed or cried had an easier time of it. Did you?” </em></p><p>Byleth considered it—reaching into the recesses of her memory, to the days of gruelling training, to her first battlefield. To the feel of flesh under her blade and the first life she extinguished in a hot spray of blood. She had been eleven years old.</p><p>“I have nothing to compare it to,”</p><p><em> “Hm, yes, I see that this is the issue,” </em> Sothis said. “ <em> Well, I suppose we will never know what life may have been like otherwise, so there is no use in regretting it. Now, to bed with you, I am rather sleepy.” </em></p><p>Feeling rather as though the strange spirit was coddling her to feel better in some way, Byleth shucked her clothes and sponged down with the tepid water of the washstand. She had a long bath earlier, though the idea of being able to have such a luxury each day was still bizarre. </p><p><em> “You could at least heat the water,” </em> Sothis shivered. <em> “You do not even like the cold!” </em></p><p>And it was true, rows of protesting goosebumps lined her flesh—but it was routine. This nightly, irritating yet necessary ritual had been part of her life for so long. Like the killing, the travelling and knowing the cold gazes of measuring warriors, it was familiar. </p><p>Slipping into bed, Byleth wondered what she would look like in a year. </p><p>---</p><p>The prince tried to maintain an air of casual dignity the next morning; he quitted his room, making his way downstairs to find Byleth seated on a bench, reading. She was waiting for him—that was the only possibility, he told himself, feeling utterly embarrassed by the thought. At his approach, she glanced up and gave him a polite little nod. </p><p>“Good morning,” he gave her a regal bow. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”</p><p><em> “How transparent you are,” </em> Glenn told him. <em> “Desperate for validation.” </em></p><p>Again, he could not argue. Dimitri simply gritted his teeth against the accusation, like a shield awaiting a blow. </p><p>“I thought we could spar this morning if you had the time,” she closed the book firmly, placing it aside like a mere dalliance. Dimitri felt his face grow hot; he’d been right. It seemed like hubris again, but it was addictive—hedging careful wagers that he was never sure would pan out. He should have found her opaque manner tiring, after all, as a noble and particularly a <em> prince </em> , he cut his teeth on being able to charm people. Yet, with her it seemed like a challenging endeavour. It wasn’t as though she ever appeared annoyed or hostile towards him, but he just could not tell <em> what </em> went on behind that gaze. </p><p>“That would be wonderful,” he said with a smile. They would have this half-day free to attend their various seminars, with their classroom lecture commencing after lunch. “I believe Professor Jeritza is going to be at the training ground in a few hours for those who would like help with their weapons. Does this mean you will be attending your flying seminars later in the week?”</p><p>Byleth nodded. “I was told that they take place near the end of the week, when students aid the monastery staff with the sky watch.”</p><p>He nodded—it would be a difficult learning curve, there was rarely room for ‘basics’ of any kind at Garreg Mach. “Have you flown before?”</p><p>“No,” </p><p>Dimitri blinked incredulously at her. She batted nary an eye at the idea of having to do something so new, so <em> dangerous </em> on such short notice. “I trust from your reaction that you aren’t afraid of heights.”</p><p>She looked thoughtful again. “I don’t think that I am.”</p><p>There it was again—a flicker of uncertainty about something that should have been trivial. It was so very strange.</p><p>“Come then, let us have an early breakfast. We can begin training before everyone arrives.”</p><p>She rose from the bench, slipping the book into her bag—he spotted the title, a treatise on aviary tactics. So, it seemed she was studious as well, rather than being one of those people who relied on their innate talent. That made him feel better in a sense, it made her feel more reachable, more like <em> them </em>. </p><p>Again, he found the meal to be almost pleasant in her company. He filled the idle space with more information about how their year of classes would take shape, and with an amused smile, he answered her questions on what a mock battle would even look like. </p><p>“So we use wooden swords and arrows, and the mages wear cuffs that reduce the power of their spells,” she repeated. “It seems rather odd.”</p><p>“It is a mixture of pageantry, training and honestly, a bit of fun,” he told her. “Of course, even with training weapons, we can fall prey to serious injury, but the monastery healing staff will be on standby. That aside, Mercedes is absolutely amazing at healing magic. Her crest has made her the best healer in our cohort, I think.”</p><p>“How does it compare to a proper battle?” Byleth pushed aside her empty plate. “You have been in skirmishes before, right? I could tell that it was not your first real battle at the village.”</p><p>All at once, Dimitri felt his good mood grow cold—as though he was struggling to ward off that feeling of pure rage and blood-filled spite that came along with the memory. He was certain that his expression had darkened, as the young woman before him frowned slightly, brows bunching together and creating a little crease on her forehead. </p><p>“Have I said something wrong?”</p><p>“No, you have done nothing to worry about,” he said hollowly. “I fear it is difficult for me to express those moments. Do you know of the Tragedy of Duscur?”</p><p>She nodded. “I have heard of it.”</p><p>“That was my first taste of a true battle, if one could even call it that. As you may have heard, I was there on that day,” he explained, more to his bunched hands than to her. “Thus I was witness to the deaths that occurred—of my father and stepmother and my dearest friends. Years later, areas in the Kingdom saw a sharp rise in unrest. The first time I commanded an army when I was sent to quell one of the uprisings.”</p><p>On the table, he saw her small hand shift, her fingers inching forward like a spasm, before closing into a fist. He hazarded a look at her face, and found it more expressive than he expected, etched with what seemed like concern.</p><p><em> “Pity,” </em> his father said. <em> “She pities you like one pities a wounded dog.” </em></p><p>“The whole affair is tangled up quite painfully, then,” Byleth observed. She dropped her eyes to her lap, and Dimitri felt a tremor along his chest, eliciting amused scoffs from the ghosts around him. “I keep forgetting that I’m no longer among mercenaries. I should not have brought up such things so flippantly.” </p><p>“It isn’t something you should feel badly about,” Dimitri said, trying to sound reassuring—but under the facade, he felt a thrill of anxiety. Had this changed the way she saw him? Did she think him weak, and broken? </p><p><em> “You are weak and you are broken,” </em>the dead King added. </p><p>Dimitri’s hands became clammy. “I hope that it does not colour the way that you see me, though, I understand if it cannot be helped,” he told her, his casual and polite tone a far cry from the turmoil that had been ignited within him. </p><p>Then, Byleth did something unexpectedly sweet—the fingers reached across the table, brushing his forearm; her eyes carried gentleness rather than judgement. The prince felt his breathing stall for a few moments. He kept still, as though he could cause this feeling to scarper if he moved too suddenly. </p><p>“Please don’t fret on my account. I’m in no position to judge you. You are still the same person I was speaking to all along,” she said simply. “But I still apologise for bringing it up.”</p><p>He looked down at her hand, bracing himself for her to recoil or move as he continued. “As you can see, my story has not been a pleasant one. In that sense, I may have deceived you in coaxing you to join me; I am far from the jovial prince people expect me to be, I’m afraid. Those few years were...full of feelings I would rather forget.”</p><p>He left out the rest—that the agony and spilled blood of his enemies ignited sparks of satisfaction in him, burning in embers that never quite extinguished. At its worst, when the flames roared, he had been driven down to mirthful, predatory glee—with the desire to feel flesh scoured and bones broken between his hands consuming all else. That was a part of him that he could never show to her—to anyone, save perhaps Dedue. Felix had glimpsed it well enough, and <em> look </em> at how that had gone. In the passing years, his horror at Dimitri had turned to firm disgust, which had remained immovable ever since. It was yet another one of those precious things in his life that had been reduced to ash because of him.</p><p>The training ground was nearly devoid of students. Knights and squires filled most of the occupied space, and the dull crashing of the wooden weapons echoed through the archways. He found them a space near the edge of the grounds, pulling a training lance off a nearby weapon stand. </p><p>“Have you ever used a lance before?” he asked. </p><p>“Not extensively,” Byleth said. “I trained briefly with one during childhood, but I favoured the sword. Outside of that, I have had to use one in a battle here and there, but only out of necessity.”</p><p>“Then we should begin with the grip,” he held out the wooden pole. “Hold it in the way that feels most comfortable to start with and then we will work from there.”</p><p>Byleth had a keen instinct for battle; she required little in the way of constant correction—when he shifted her hands or critiqued her form, she quickly absorbed the new knowledge. In his early days, training with Gustave, Dimitri often found coordination to be one of his persistent weaknesses. Fine, dexterous skills eluded him, subsumed by his strength and his tendency to rush things. He found himself comparing Byleth to his childhood friends—his only benchmark. Felix and Ingrid had always been swift, with the latter being the fastest of them all, though the young Fraladarius had oustripped her easily in strength. As for Sylvain, though he appeared to lack motivation, he was an excellent mixture of both strength and speed—he would hand-wave his skill away under the guise of his devil-may-care attitude, but the prince recognised his potential quickly. With a pang, he struggled to recall the last time they had all trained together.</p><p>“That’s good,” he said, as she closed in on him. He had the advantage of a greater reach, and was able to step out of her way. “Don’t extend quite so much—you’re left a bit open now,” to prove his point, he shifted his lance to one hand and grabbed the handle of hers.</p><p>She reacted quickly, jerking her body to the side—a move that would have unbalanced most others, save for much larger opponents.</p><p>And, of course, <em> him</em>. Dimitri did not budge. </p><p>Byleth blinked at him, and leaned her body backwards; the prince found himself smiling as she tipped onto her heels.</p><p>“I’m afraid this is where the Blaiddyd bloodline gives me an advantage,” he said good-naturedly. “My family is known for our...significant strength, to put it lightly.”</p><p>“This is your crest, then?”</p><p>“Indeed. I hold a minor crest of Blaiddyd,” </p><p>She quirked her head to the side, brow furrowing again. “How strong is a minor crest?”</p><p>“I am not entirely sure,” Dimitri said. He dropped his weapon and grasped the lance handle further down with his other hand—she watched, wide-eyed as he easily hoisted her up until the tips of her boots left the floor. “You have a good grip.”</p><p>“Thank you,”</p><p>His smile grew wider at that deadpan, even as she dangled at the end of her own weapon. Dimitri eased her down and she worked the tension out of her shoulders.</p><p>“Let’s try again,” she raised the lance.</p><p>It was rare to find someone who had such acute control over her own body—and further, someone who seemed to only make mistakes <em> once </em>. She came at him again, trading a head-on offense for skirting, quick blows that kept him on the backfoot. The grin on his face was likely coming off a bit foolish now as he fielded her attacks, but he found that he could not suppress it. By the time they stopped, he had disarmed her a few more times, but she had managed to get within his guard. When she swapped her lance for a sword, she summarily beat him with ease. </p><p>As was the norm after a good training session, the prince was breathing heavily, with the fine sheen of sweat on his brow, but this time, with a sense of <em> enjoyment </em> rather than cold despondency.</p><p>Byleth Eisner was truly impressive.</p><p>---</p><p>The sun shone cheerfully through her dormitory window; Byleth strapped her cuirass into place with routine ease. She had been looking over the new armour—made especially for the monastery and gifted by Lady Rhea herself—when Sothis yawned in annoyance. </p><p>
  <em> “How absolutely awful. Are you not weary? This is a Sunday!” </em>
</p><p>“I’ve always risen early,” she said in response—it still felt odd, thinking or even whispering in response to this entity, who currently floated irately in her periphery.</p><p>Sothis’ little face scrunched up in distaste. <em> “The entire week has gone by in a twinkling. This year will be utterly horrid if each one is like this.” </em></p><p>“We will be fine,” she answered. “You’ll grow accustomed.”</p><p><em> “More’s the pity,” </em> Sothis grumbled. <em> “Well, now, look at you! You wear the colours of the Kingdom—today you will march under your prince’s banner. Are you ready for this little exercise? A mock battle seems so silly. What if you accidentally hurt one of them?” </em></p><p>Byleth frowned. “The healers are all going to be there.”</p><p>
  <em> “Still, do try not to cause some horrible crisis of succession by killing an heir, will you? I sincerely doubt a prison cell will give us a restful sleep.” </em>
</p><p>Byleth opened the door—Sothis’ giggles resounded in her head like a parade of little bells as her eyes adjusted to the light. Standing in the hallway, blue standard clipped neatly across his shoulder, was the prince. </p><p>
  <em> “How adorable, he was waiting for you!” </em>
</p><p>Byleth ignored her. “Am I late?”</p><p>“No, not at all,” he said, smiling. “I came to fetch you for an early breakfast if you are amenable to it. I...would like to avoid the crowd later.”</p><p>Confused, but nonetheless finding herself hungry, she nodded. “Of course. Shall we?”</p><p>As they walked to the dining hall, Byleth noted a large, familiar figure leaning against the outer wall. The tall man was squinting into the shimmering pond, apparently deep in thought until he saw the approaching pair. </p><p>“Your Highness,” he bowed. “Byleth,”</p><p>“Good morning, Dedue,” the prince sounded mildly exasperated. “You could have simply told me if you wanted to come along. How long have you been loitering out here? Have you already eaten?”</p><p>“Apologies, Highness,” Dedue bowed again. “I thought that you would be consumed by preparations last evening, so I just sought to wait. The knights are also dining currently.”</p><p>Dimitri’s expression darkened. “No one has said anything to you, have they?”</p><p>Byleth peered up at him—his voice had taken on a new tenor, almost forbidding. His eyes had become hard, his jaw set; this seemed to be some sort of familiar problem.</p><p>“No,” Dedue said hastily. “Please, do not trouble yourself by worrying about that. I barely notice any remarks.”</p><p>“So there <em> have </em> been remarks,”</p><p>“Is this because of your origin?” Byleth asked quietly. </p><p>Dedue sighed—for such a tall, bulky young man, he seemed almost diminutive in the moment. “Since the regicide was attributed to my people, it’s unsurprising that the people of Fódlan find it difficult to be around me.”</p><p>“I don’t think that’s fair,” she told him. “You haven’t done anything; are you not a student too?”</p><p>“That is <em> exactly </em> my perspective on the matter,” Dimitri said firmly. “We will dine together and prepare for the mock battle. In future, Dedue, always inform me when you are mistreated.”</p><p>“Yes, of course, Your Highness,”</p><p><em> “He says yes, but his face betrays him.” </em> Sothis observed sadly. <em> “He will not want to burden his lord with what he feels are the weight of his ancestral sins.” </em></p><p>The three attracted some attention as they awaited their food, and Byleth kept her gaze steadily on the curious faces. Some appeared interested, likely due to the encroaching battle, though some carried a sense of agitation—whispering among themselves and sparing them fleeting glances. This was likely what Dedue had been trying to avoid dealing with on his own.</p><p>
  <em> “Hm, perhaps. I imagine if he was on his own, their misbehaviour would pale in comparison to this childish gossip.” </em>
</p><p>Byleth sighed. She would seek to eat with him more often, she decided. </p><p>“How do you feel about our chances?” Dimitri asked his retainer lightly as he began to cut into the thick rashers of fried ham on his plate. The prince’s stern expression had not waned completely—he still carried the same stiffness at his jaw, and Byleth could feel a tangibly tense aura about him.</p><p>“I believe we will prevail,” Dedue said. “Our professor is by and large the strongest of the three, and he has battle experience. Our class is also filled with talent such as you and of course, our newcomer,” he inclined his head towards her. </p><p>“Yes, though, the other professors will have chosen their strongest students as well. No doubt the Black Eagles will leave us with Hubert to contend with, and I can imagine that Hilda and Lorenz will be among the Golden Deer.”</p><p>Byleth chewed a bite of her ham and eggs. Professor Jeritza had chosen Felix and Mercedes to join them—the former for his ability to switch between a sword and a bow, and the latter due to her prowess with magic. She swallowed and took a sip of her tea. “Who else do you think will be in our opposition?”</p><p>“It is hard to say,” Dimitri said. “I can expect the Golden Deer will have at least one other archer or mage. As for the Black Eagles, I doubt that they would get Bernadetta to agree to take part, so I imagine Dorothea will take her place as a mage. Meanwhile, Ferdinand will <em> insist </em> on taking part, so I am certain he will be there.”</p><p>“Bernadetta,” Byleth tilted her head. “That would be...the girl who hides, correct?”</p><p>“Indeed,” Dimitri nodded. “From what I hear, Edelgard has quite the time extracting her from her dormitory for class.”</p><p>“I encountered her one night as I finished tending the plants in the greenhouse,” Dedue said, frowning. “She screamed and ran away.”</p><p>“Ah—she does that to everyone,” Dimitri said. “Not to worry. She shrieked and fled from me when I happened to return late from training.”</p><p>The thought seemed to mollify Dedue for a moment, and their conversation then turned to what would come after the mock battle. </p><p><em> “A grand feast, eh? You’ve perked up quite well! My, one would imagine your former mercenary life had starved you.” </em> Sothis said with a grin. <em> “Oh dear, does the prince look a bit peaky now? And goodness, what a dreadful amount of ruckus!” </em></p><p>“Blast,” Dimitri hissed under his breath. “We have lost track of time, I wanted to be well clear of the dining hall before <em> this </em>.”</p><p>Byleth raised her head. There was an unending parade of students flowing into the hall—all chattering and, among some of the girls, giggling. Those same girls were staring directly at their table—no—</p><p>They were staring directly at <em> Dimitri</em>.</p><p>
  <em> “Our charming prince has a fanclub! How absolutely unsurprising,” </em>
</p><p>“Why are they—?” Byleth looked at him, perplexed. The prince’s face had gone somber, though something about his forlorn expression made the edge of her mouth tug into a little, amused smirk. </p><p>“I do not know,” he shook his head vehemently. “They did this when I first arrived here, and several times since. Usually I dine early or late,” he winced as the noise reached a fever pitch. “To avoid this.”</p><p>“His Highness is the heir to the throne,” Dedue explained, leaning forward to be heard over the din. Byleth saw both Claude and Edelgard enter the hallway from separate entrances—they too were swept up by adoring classmates. “He is also the bearer of a significant crest—ergo, many eligible young women find—”</p><p>“Yes, yes,” Dimitri interjected. “Please, let us not speak of it. Let us leave quickly before they work up the courage to come here.”</p><p><em> “Do you think this is genuine exasperation, or perhaps simply a polite facade?” </em> Sothis prodded mischievously. <em> “A young man must love all this attention.” </em></p><p>Byleth firmly hushed the little entity, that familiar knot of discomforting tension forming in her chest. She studied the knot of girls—most of them were part of their class, and were of noble or knightly stock. One at the forefront, a blonde young woman with distinct hazel eyes smiled brightly at the prince as he glanced over. </p><p>“Oh, good,” Dimitri breathed. “The others have arrived.” </p><p>The crowd parted—likely due to Felix’s surly face. Some of the girls glanced in his direction, but he ignored them all, placing his tray beside Byleth with an annoyed grunt. Annette had skirted by alongside him and seemed utterly gobsmacked by all of the chaos. Sylvain, meanwhile, was actively <em> trying </em> to catch the girls’ eyes, but all he gained were various scathing looks. Ingrid seemed to be ignoring it all, sitting down and immediately tucking into her food without pause. Bringing up the rear—and almost caught in the crowd again were Mercedes and Ashe—apparently neither of whom inspired wariness or deference enough to cut a path for themselves. </p><p>“Goddess, I thought I was never going to get through,” Ashe already looked shell-shocked. </p><p>“They should not be clogging up the area like that,” Dimitri sighed. Nearby, Edelgard was shepherded to her seat by Hubert, whose murderous gaze had created a safe perimeter around the Imperial princess.</p><p>“You should learn how to do that,” Byleth gestured in their direction. </p><p>Annette giggled. “Ashe, can your face even look that mean?”</p><p>“No,” Mercedes smiled, gazing at him with an almost maternal pride. “With those freckles? He would most certainly not.”</p><p>“When your adoring fans manage to finally approach us, why don’t you send a few of ‘em my way?” Sylvain winked. “I’ll take them off your hands and even throw in some advice on how to flirt.”</p><p>“That sort of idiocy is why you’ll be <em> watching </em> the mock battle today,” Felix said acidly. “Keep chasing skirts and you’ll end up with a knife in your gut when we have to do a real battle.”</p><p>“Felix, that is a tad too far, isn’t it?” Annette blanched. </p><p>Sylvain waved her off. “Let him be. Good old Felix’s favourite pastime is insulting me—and of course, His Highness.”</p><p>Byleth continued to watch the bickering, finishing her lukewarm tea. Out of the corner of her eye, she registered the distinctive silhouette and gait of their professor. She turned her head towards him—Jeritza spared their table a glance, but his gaze met hers. There was a strange glint in his eye before he sought to take his place at the staff table. </p><p>“He is sometimes a difficult man to read, is he not?” Dimitri asked. </p><p>Slightly surprised, Byleth looked at him—it seemed as though he had seen the entire exchange. </p><p>“He’s not unlike some of the mercenaries I have met,” she said. “Single-mindedly drawn to the battle. It’s what he lives for.”</p><p>“Indeed,” the prince said, his voice carrying a hint of disapproval. Whatever he planned to say next was cut off—Byleth’s line of sight was cut off by an extended hand, wielding an embroidered handkerchief that smelled strongly of some kind of perfume.</p><p>“This is for you, Your Highness,” It was the blonde girl, cheeks tinted slightly with a shy blush as she dropped into a graceful curtsy. “I hope it brings you luck.”<br/><br/>“Ah, thank you, Cicely,”</p><p>“Of course, Your Highness,” she curtsied again. Before leaving, she cast a sweeping glance over the table—her expression becoming slightly stony when she saw Dedue. </p><p>“She went all <em> lady’s favour </em> on you,” Sylvain said. “Seems she knows what she wants, and that’s to take her house’s Viscounty and turn it into a kingdom.”</p><p>The perfume on the kerchief still hung thickly in the air, even after Dimitri put it in his pocket—to the resounding and distant sounds of girlish pleasure behind them. </p><p>“Who was that?” Byleth looked between the two, feeling utterly perplexed. </p><p>“That, my lovely classmate, is Cicely Helena Kleiman. Her family were elevated to a high status after—” Sylvain broke off, and glanced at Dedue, who seemed rather unbothered.</p><p>“It is fine, Sylvain. Viscount Kleiman presides over the land that was formerly known as Duscur. He was awarded the title after he helped annex the people.”</p><p>Byleth frowned at him. “That would explain why she looked at you in that manner.”</p><p>“The Viscount has had a difficult time with rabble,” Dedue said quietly. “Therefore it is natural that she has only known my people as enemies.”</p><p>“Let us turn to better subjects,” Dimitri interjected. </p><p>Sothis had perked up, awake at last. <em> “Ooh, things have finally gotten interesting! I adore this sort of intrigue. Perhaps you should remember that girl’s face well—there is a non-negligible chance that she will be your Queen should you take the prince up on his offer.” </em></p><p>Byleth shuddered. The tense knot in her chest was still there—perhaps it was all of the gossip and the politicking that was beginning to wear on her.</p><p>---</p><p>The little hills surrounding their practice field were packed. Dimitri felt slightly awkward—should he carry himself with the same dignity of a true battle? Should he acknowledge his classmates, furiously cheering? Truly, these sorts of events made him acutely aware of how divorced he felt from the frivolity around him. On one side, Dedue marched, eyes forward, hand on his training axe; on the other, walked Byleth, gripping her sword handle in her customary, mercenary fashion. </p><p><em> “Are you admiring how your prize is draped in your colours?” </em> Glenn hissed. <em> “I was too, when I died.” </em></p><p>He took a sharp breath. Byleth glanced at him questioningly, but then caught sight of something on the hill. She raised her hand in a wave—Dimitri followed her gaze to see Jeralt. The Captain seemed taken aback by the gesture, but was waving back. They seemed to have a rather dysfunctional relationship, though he could not be surprised, given that she was raised among sellswords.</p><p>The three houses took their places. Jeritza, Byleth and Dimitri were the vanguard, with Felix stationed at the flank with his bow—and a sword in case he was needed as a close range combatant. Mercedes was ensconced behind them all, safely out of the way, beaming under her helm as though she was having a pleasant walk instead of a mock battle.</p><p>“This will be utterly boring,” Jeritza said under his breath, his low and deliberate tenor cutting across the noise.</p><p>“We will impress you, not to worry,” Byleth told him. “I think everyone is excited to do so.”</p><p>Their professor made a scoffing noise. “We will see about that.”</p><p>Indeed, what followed could have been termed a bloodbath—were there any blood. Jeritza seemed content to stay out of the battle for the most part, that was, until Lorenz tried to advance on him in his enthusiasm. The resulting melee was <em> not </em> at all pretty to behold, but it was rather quick and decisive. Byleth had picked off Leonie easily, and though Felix had been hit by Dorothea’s thunder spell, he had answered with a vicious arrow that sent her falling into a particularly thorny bramble. Hubert had subdued Hilda with a sneak attack, but Claude managed to hit him with no less than <em> four </em> arrows. Dimitri, meanwhile had bested Ferdinand, and when the heir of house Aegir tried to stand with his lance again, the prince simply snapped it with one hand. He then came face to face with Edelgard.</p><p>“So it seems it is time to find out which of us is stronger,” she said, shifting the grip on her axe.</p><p>He smiled. “With you as an opponent, I cannot hold anything back.”</p><p>“Good to hear it,” she smiled.</p><p>What the Imperial princess lacked in size, she made up for in grit—with the crest of Seiros, she was far stronger and hardier than the others. Still, even a minor crest of Blaiddyd would best her in brute force. The problem was, however, that brute force was <em> not </em> the way to beat Edelgard. She kept him at bay, sometimes returning his strikes with parries that held dangerous follow-ups. She seemed wary of him too, with the way she tried to avoid getting hit at all cost—and that was what gave him the edge when it counted. He took a risk with an open charge, knowing that she would try with all her might to avoid having to absorb or parry it. When she slipped around him and tried to use his missed strike against him, Dimitri sprang into action. The axe gave him a glancing blow—it would have been a cut were it a blade, but he managed to turn in time to kick her legs from under her. Edelgard fell back with a surprised yell, and the prince leveled his lance at her. </p><p>Sighing, she dropped the axe. “That was good, though you would be hurt if this was a real fight.”</p><p>“Yes, though, if this were a real battle,” he looked at the lance and winced. “You would not have had the opportunity to surrender.”</p><p>“Fair enough,” Edelgard got to her feet and let out a small laugh. “Well now, while you were fighting with me, your house slipped around and got everyone else. I suppose you’ve won.”</p><p>Dimitri turned. Jeritza had gone to Manuela, who seemed to be grumbling while holding her shoulder, while Byleth stood casually over Professor Hanneman. He hadn’t even seen who had taken out Claude. Mercedes jogged up towards him, smiling wider as the resounding cheers seemed to double in volume.</p><p>“Felix got hit with an arrow and it left a nasty cut,” she said, raising her voice. “I healed him up a little but he had to leave.”</p><p>“Has anyone else sustained other injuries?” Dimitri asked. </p><p>“No, I don’t even think the professor or Byleth even got hit,” Mercedes said with a serene giggle. “I’ll go talk to our professor and see what’s next.”</p><p>Dimitri approached Byleth, who was helping Hanneman to his feet. </p><p>“Goodness. Going against someone with actual battle experience truly makes me feel useless,” the older man said with a cough. “You didn’t have to hit me <em> quite </em> so hard, however.”</p><p>“Hey, you didn’t compliment me like that when my class won last year!” Manuela said, cradling her shoulder as she passed them to find the healers. “Ugh, but look at me. I’m set to be a patient in my own infirmary. Your professor is something else.”</p><p>“All that being said,” Hanneman looked at Byleth appraisingly. “You should come to my office when you have the chance. After you hit me—well, suffice it to say, I have a hypothesis I would like to test.”</p><p>Byleth blinked at him silently for a moment, before nodding. “Of course.”</p><p>“Now, go off and celebrate while we tend to our bruised pride...or, in some cases our more tangible bruises.”</p><p>“He does seem as though he will not let you forget hitting him any time soon,” Dimitri smiled at the mage’s retreating form. Byleth, meanwhile, was looking across the field—her face stern and her eyes somewhat troubled. “If I may, you do not look happy for someone who just won.”</p><p>She turned to him, that little expression of confusion finding its way back to her features. “I apologise. I just do not know how to act under these circumstances.”</p><p>“This is all very new for you,” he said encouragingly. “But you should allow yourself to feel happy. Come, let us all walk back to the monastery together and we will have a victory celebration. Joy like this is fleeting—so I do hope you’d consent to share in it with us.”</p><p>She nodded. </p><p>For once, Dimitri hushed the snide voices as he joined his classmates. He would allow himself to pretend for now—to grasp this fleeting joy.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p>That evening, Jeralt found his daughter fishing by moonlight. He smiled wryly and sat beside her.</p><p>“You’re not all tuckered out after such a busy day?”</p><p>Byleth glanced at him, quirking an eyebrow. “I think you would have been worried if I was,”</p><p>“That’s true,” he laughed. “Your class did well. I wouldn’t even say that you had to do most of the work.”</p><p>“They invited me to celebrate,” she said idly. “It was...nice.”</p><p>Jeralt did a double take, but his smile grew. “Well, that’s what I like to hear. No sense in bringing you here if you’re miserable.”</p><p>The sound of footsteps behind the pair made them pause. Byleth turned to see a shock of orange hair illuminated in the moon’s rays. Leonie approached stiffly, fishing rod in one hand and a bucket in the other.</p><p>Her usually brash voice was quiet as she put her pail down with a clink. “I thought I could join you two.”</p><p>Byleth shifted over, making enough space between herself and her father. Leonie’s eyes widened slightly, but she sat down, swinging her legs over the jetty without further ceremony. </p><p>“You know, ever since you taught me how to fish properly, I was always the one bringing home the most food, Captain Jeralt.”</p><p>“Heh, I figured,” he chuckled. “You worked hard. I had no doubt you’d master it all.”</p><p>“Yeah, well,” Leonie gave a dry, disappointed chuckle. “Apparently not well enough. You threw me right on my behind today,” she glanced across to Byleth. </p><p>“I’m used to fighting,” Byleth said simply. </p><p>“I bet,” Leonie said. “But now I’m not just a village kid who catches fish or hunts some small game here and there. I’m going to be fighting too—and,” she grinned. “Come the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, I’m <em> going </em> to repay you in kind.”</p><p>“I look forward to it,”</p><p>Jeralt’s perplexed gaze swept over them for a moment, before returning to his tugging line. Truly, he had accumulated some strange ones. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I’m doing a Maddening run and I made Felix a sniper. He straight up murders everything, it’s great.<br/>(Falcon Knight Ingrid with high dex and deathblow still folds like a wet paper bag though, RIP)</p><p>And yes, both of our two idiots are skirting around feeling jealous and ignoring it because they're idiots.</p><p>Next time, we will have: the kids killing bandits, Dimitri feeling more things and Byleth learning about ~crests</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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